


Queenliness

by JimIntoMystery



Series: Futility [6]
Category: Star Trek
Genre: Delta Quadrant, Gen, The Borg, Unimatrix Zero, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 18:37:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 31,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3260168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JimIntoMystery/pseuds/JimIntoMystery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Don't provoke the Borg."  It is one of the few rules enforced by the Q Continuum, a race of omnipotent entities.  But in 2386, Admiral Janeway's invasion of Borg space threatens to upset the delicate balance of power in the Delta Quadrant.  There may at last be no choice but for the Q to intervene, despite the risk of revealing themselves to the Borg Queen.</p><p>As luck would have it, Commander Jake Kreighen has been marooned on an uncharted planet, hidden away from both the Federation alliance and the Borg Collective.  It may be possible for the Continuum to convince him to act on their behalf, and avoid an interdimensional incident.  But Kreighen has his own agenda, and will not rest until he's reunited with his crew...even if the fate of the universe depends on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Intercomplex 934 hung in the empty void, resembling a blackened hulk of debris more than a space station. Starships lurched in and out of its docking ports like flies surrounding a carcass. It was all Commander Hardcastle had left.

A lifetime ago, he'd been the first officer of a Starfleet vessel, with a promising career ahead of him. Then he had met the Borg. They scavenged his ship for anything they might use, and ultimately decided that they could use him. Most of his right arm was cut away, and his entire body was "enhanced" with cybernetic implants. What was left of him had been subdued, forced into subservience to the vast Borg Collective. Linked to the thoughts of every other victim of this slavery, he became painfully aware that he'd been among the luckiest of his crew--many were left to die in space, deemed "unworthy" of assimilation.

It turned out that Hardcastle's good fortune had gone further. He had a rare genetic mutation that allowed his subconscious to resist the Borg's handiwork. Each day, when he had lurched to a halt in a regeneration alcove, he would dream. It was a shared dream, among all Borg who had similar mutations, that stood in defiance of what the Collective had done. The dream that was "Unimatrix Zero" became reality when its inhabitants broke free from the Borg's control, to organize a resistance movement. In every respect, Hardcastle still looked like a Borg, but now when he lifted his mechanical limb it was to fight the Collective.

All the same, it was a dismal existence. At first, the thought of escaping the Borg and waging a guerrilla campaign against them seemed appealing, even romantic. But after years of hit-and-run attacks, reality sank in for him--the "Zeroes" were hopelessly outnumbered, no matter how many drones or ships they liberated to their side.

That changed when he was contacted by General Korok, a fellow Zero fighting on the other side of Borg space. The Klingon had offered a new hope, albeit a slim one. It was enough for Hardcastle to order his ragtag fleet of ships out of the Vostigye frontier for a six-month journey to the Caatati sector. When he saw Intercomplex 934 under Unimatrix Zero control, he knew the risk had been worth it. For the first time in five centuries, a Borg space station had been conquered.

"Resistance is _not_ futile," Korok boomed proudly at the mission briefing aboard the station. "All of you, from across the Delta Quadrant, have had cause to question that, but I tell you today it is so. The Borg are stretched thin in this region, combating the combined forces of the Alpha Quadrant--the Klingon Defense Forces, the Federation Starfleet, and even the Romulan Guard."

"Then you've established supply lines with this fleet," one of the commanders wondered.

"No," Korok said. "The Federation Alliance has made rapid progress, but the front is still several dozen light years from this sector. That is why I've gathered our forces. We must make our stand here, and hold the intercomplex until their fleet can link with ours."

Another officer, a Vori woman, stepped forward. "General, have you had signal with this cluster? Do they fathom the enlistings?"

The Klingon's eyes narrowed as he responded. "They know nothing of it yet." At this, a commotion grew among the audience, and he raised his voice to stifle it. "But I know these people--they are from my part of the galaxy--and I can convince them that we did what we had to."

"I'll vouch for Korok on that," Hardcastle added. "If the Klingons and Romulans found a way to work together, my people probably arranged that alliance, and they're probably leading it. Humans don't like the...ugliness of war, but they understand the necessity of it."

A B'omar man found this unconvincing. "You said in you communiques that this 'Star Fleet' had supplied you with an attache team, General. Wouldn't they have reported back to your alliance about--"

"You're referring to the task force sent by Admiral Janeway aboard the Federation shuttle _Hrunting_ ," Korok clarified. "A great deal has occurred since my original report." He gestured toward a entryway behind him, and called for one of his aides. "Lieutenant?"

What was left of Hardcastle's jaw nearly dropped when he saw her. In many ways, the Andorian looked virtually the same as she had twenty-four years earlier, when the USS _Tombaugh_ was captured by the Borg. The snug, drab bodysuit she wore left little to the imagination, and made it clear that most of what the Borg added to her physiology had been removed. It was strange enough that she wore the garment, since the Zeroes all still bore the armor plating intricately bonded to their skin. Had Starfleet rescued her from the Collective? Were their medical techniques for reversing assimilation superior to Unimatrix Zero's? Did she remember him? These questions, and a dozen more, flew through his mind in a fraction of a second.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she announced. "I am Tirava of Andoria, formerly a lieutenant in the Federation Starfleet. For seven months I served with the crew of the _Hrunting_ , assigned to General Korok's fleet to represent Starfleet interests."

_It really is her_ , Hardcastle thought. And yet, she was so different. Her face, once stern but passionate, was now grim and subdued. Whatever comforts she had enjoyed after being rescued by Starfleet must have been short-lived. Somehow, among a group of ex-Borg fighting a hopeless, endless battle, she managed to seem more anguished than any of them.

"I'll be available to answer questions about the Alliance's relationship with Unimatrix Zero," she continued, "but be advised that I have recently...resigned my commission to serve directly under Korok's command."

"I don't fathom this," the Vori woman interrupted. "If you don't bear Fleet colors, can we not have tellings with the rest-ofs that still do from your cluster?"

"No," Tirava explained. "The personnel assigned to the _Hrunting_..." She took a deep breath, and continued. "...are all dead."


	2. Chapter 2

> Ship's log. Or personal log. I don't care. Stardate...I think it's about 63578.
> 
> This is Lieutenant Commander Jake Kreighen. I'm recording this message in case I'm dead before anyone comes looking for me.
> 
> I'm stranded on a moon, orbiting a Class J gas giant in a planetary nebula. No one knows I'm here except Unimatrix Zero, and they're the ones who left me here to die.
> 
> When my crew entered this system, we discovered Borg wreckage on the surface and investigated. We didn't know it was a Zero ship, or that the Zeroes had been holding aliens aboard as conscripts. After we figured it out, General Korok arrived collect his prisoners and destroy the evidence, including my ship and my crew. He'd have killed me, too, if Tirava hadn't fooled him into thinking she'd do it for him.
> 
> I...for the record, I want to absolve Lieutenant Tirava of whatever Korok is doing. She's only pretending to be on their side, presumably until she can find a way to come back for me. But the rest of Unimatrix Zero...they're so determined to defeat the Borg that they're enslaving an entire race, forcing them to fight on their behalf. And they'll resort to cold-blooded murder to keep that secret.
> 
> I don't know how long I can hold out. I've salvaged enough of the Zeroes' equipment to make it this long, but sooner or later I'll run out of power. If you find this, please send it to Admiral Kathryn Janeway, the supreme commander of the Federation Alliance Expeditionary Force in the Delta Quadrant. Thousands of lives may be at stake.

The moon had no official name, since it went unnoticed by even the Borg. But its sole inhabitant was a Starfleet officer--to the bitter end--and found comfort in exploring the unknown and naming the unidentified. And so it became known as "Aelita," by a unanimous vote of one.

Aelita was always chilly, its dense atmosphere only barely retaining the heat given off by its dying white dwarf star. Kreighen estimated the temperature at about 10 degrees Celsius. The thick gray clouds and rolling green hills might have reminded him of a dreary November day in the Ohio River Valley on Earth. Except the Ohio Valley had trees. And grass. And animals.

He'd spent three weeks living off the moss and fungus that covered the land, and that had left him malnourished and irritable. There were no large bodies of water to be found--short of finding a puddle, he had to make do with what he could strain from the mud beneath his dinner. He couldn't imagine how the Xhiryptyr'x had survived for so long after crashing here. They'd salvaged some tools from the Zeroes' ship--which he'd re-salvaged--but nothing that could be fashioned into a food replicator. Perhaps they'd resorted to cannibalism. Kreighen didn't even have that option.

He spent much of his days hiking through the wasteland in search of better food. Having assembled a crude tricorder, he'd identified a species of mushroom with a high iron content. Finding them, though, was a more difficult matter. He had no means of transportation, and no protective clothing beyond his tattered Starfleet jumpsuit. He also had nothing else to do, aside from developing anemia, so he hiked out into the wilderness, as he had done for the past twenty-one mornings.

This time, he smelled something burning.

It wasn't coming from his camp--he'd put out his own fires before setting out for the day. It also wasn't natural--he'd have known by the odor, having attempted to cook literally every plant he could find here. That only left one other possibility. For the first time in weeks, he wasn't alone.

With newfound will, Kreighen hurried upwind, trying to track the scent. It was familiar, but only like a half-remembered dream. Certainly nothing he'd experienced recently, not after two years eating replicated food aboard starships in the Delta Quadrant. As he honed in on it and began to see smoke on the horizon, his memory became clearer. Someone was definitely cooking food, and not with the peat found here. The flavor of charcoal soon filled his nostrils, and became impossible not to recognize. Just like on Earth. Just like...home.

It was open pit barbecue. It had to be.

Kreighen began to scramble at his best speed toward the source of the smoke. Hunger gave him reason enough to hurry, but it was the mystery that truly drove him. There wasn't any hardwood charcoal anywhere near this star system, and there wasn't a genuine American barbecue pit within 50,000 light years. Whatever this was, it had to be designed to attract his attention, and that suggested a trap.

As he ascended a hill, his makeshift tricorder began to pick up readings--the temperature of the flame, the metals in the grill--but no humanoid life signs or Borg transceiver signals. As he reached the top, his instruments had pinpointed the location of the heat source, but by then the riddle was solved. In the valley below he could see a young woman tending to a crude earth oven, cooking what he now recognized as the burnt ends of a beef brisket.

Kreighen navigated down the hill as quietly as possible, realizing that there was nowhere for him to hide if the woman happened to notice him. She didn't appear dangerous, but there was no logical reason for anything so...safe...to be in the middle of Borg space during wartime. For a moment he cursed the fact he had no weapons, but his better judgement prevailed. Either this woman knew he would come, and was adequately prepared for his every move; or she was an innocent anomaly with no cause to start a fight.

So when he got within twenty meters of her, he abandoned all stealth. "Morning," he announced, with all the southern hospitality he could summon. "Smelled something good out here, thought I'd drop by and visit, if it isn't any trouble."

The blonde woman turned and smiled, as if she'd hoped he would approach her this way. "No trouble at all, Jake. I just thought you'd be hungry after three weeks of eating moss."

Intriguing. "Oh, I do all right," he played along. "But I appreciate the gesture. How soon do you think it'll be ready?"

"Ready when you are," she answered. She laid down her spit and raised her hands in the air, waving them over her face in a criss-cross pattern. In a flash of light, the entire pit was gone. In its place was an old-fashioned folding table, with a thin paper tablecloth taped onto it, set with paper plates and all the burnt ends Kreighen could eat.

"Perfect timing, then." He immediately sat down in one of the steel folding chairs surrounding the table, and scooped some of the meat onto a plate. When the woman stifled a laugh, he looked up to her. "Something funny?"

"I'm sorry," she said, "but this isn't at all how I thought this would work. Don't you want to know what all this is? How I got here? Who I am?"

"Of course I do," Kreighen admitted. "But you've made it clear you won't tell me until after I eat. I'm fine with that schedule."

"Oh." She looked almost embarrassed. "I guess I'm not that good at being cryptic."

"Well, you make up for it in conjuring up Kansas City barbecue," Kreighen replied between bites.

"Is that what it is? I just...well, I'm not an expert or anything. I mean, I knew you liked barbecue, and this just what I remember from home..."

"So where is 'home,' Ms....?"

"Topeka...Rogers... _home_ is Topeka and my _name_ is--"

"I get the picture, Ms. Rogers."

"Oh no," she chided. "You can just call me 'Amanda,' Jake. That's not exactly right either, but it's easier than calling me 'Q.'"


	3. Chapter 3

Kreighen could only look at the woman as a surge hit his chest, leaving a burning sensation spreading through his stomach. He tried to breathe, and when that didn't work he wheezed out a guttural sound of pain.

"I...are you all right?" Amanda asked. "I didn't mean to--"

"It's fine," he finally explained. As he examined the bottle she'd created for him, he added, "Nice hooch, actually. I just haven't had any of the real stuff since we shipped out to the Delta Quadrant."

"Oh." She seemed nervous around him, as if not knowing what to do with him now that he was here. "To be honest, I've never had real alcohol before. I was only eighteen when I left to join the Q Continuum..."

"Yeah, about that," Kreighen interjected. "Maybe you should sit down and explain..."

Amanda sat in one of the chairs at her picnic table, almost as soon as he suggested it. "I'm not sure I can explain it," she began. "Not in terms humans would understand. Well...the Q Continuum is like...a river that stretches forever in both directions. It's a higher plane of awareness in which the Q exist as omnipotent beings of time, space, and thought."

"That much I've already heard about," Kreighen said. "There's a course on the Q and similar transcorporeal entities at the Academy. But you don't strike me as the guy who's been pestering Starfleet captains for the past twenty years."

"That's because I'm not him. Q. That is, I _am_ Q and he's Q too, but I'm not..." Amanda sighed and began rubbing her temples with her thumb and forefinger. "I'm sorry, I'm not usually this..." She became aware of her hand on her forehead and felt the need to comment. "This isn't helping me think at all. I could've sworn this used to work."

"Look. You're from another plane of awareness and you're struggling to put your thoughts into terms I'll comprehend. That's understandable. But I really just want to know why a Q has a human name and says she grew up in Kansas."

"Right," she answered, regaining some much-needed focus. "My parents were Q. They left the Continuum to live as humans on Earth. When I was born I seemed to be a normal human, but as I got older I developed...special abilities. I was interning aboard the starship _Enterprise_ when Q...the one you've heard of...told me the truth about where I came from. I've been learning what it means to be Q for the past...seventeen years?" She said it as if it had been a prison sentence, and then stared at Kreighen. "Why...you're about my age...if I still aged. I can't believe I've lost track of so much time..."

"Amanda..."

"What's it been like?" she asked. "Living out your adulthood as a human, I mean. Have you been in love? Do you have any children? Has anyone died that you cared about? How did you come to terms with--"

"Amanda." Kreighen reached for her hand and held it firmly in his own. "I appreciate what you've done for me, but there must be trillions of starving people across the galaxy. You came to me for _something_ , so maybe you should tell me what it is."

She nodded slowly, and withdrew her hand. "I don't think that I can. Not directly. There are rules about this sort of thing. Maybe...maybe this will help." With a unique flourish, she waved her hand, and everything in Kreighen's field of view was enveloped in a flash of light.

When the light faded, he found himself and Amanda in an empty room, which he partially recognized. "This...this is a Federation starship," he exclaimed to no one in particular, since his companion clearly knew it. "Looks like the situation room of an _Akira_ -class carrier..."

He felt his heart skip a beat when both the port and starboard doors to the room slid open simultaneously. Officers--presumably the ship's senior staff--began filing in from both directions. Kreighen prepared to explain his presence to them, but they took no notice.

"Let me guess," he muttered to Amanda. "You've arranged it so they can't see or hear us?"

"Something like that," she explained. "This is a delicate situation. I can't allow the crew of the _Stormwind_ to know we're here." As she said this, the staff began to talk among themselves, oblivious to either her or her guest.

"Are you sure she didn't tell you _why_ she came out all this way? Because I can't imagine anything being so important..."

"It seems rather obvious, Doctor. She is here to assign a replacement for the captain."

"How the hell do you know that? You can't just jump to your stupid conclusions--"

"If we're getting a replacement, wouldn't the new captain have come aboard with her? Unless her adjutant is..."

"We'll know soon enough. I can't imagine that speculation will accomplish anything more than patience."

"Agreed. I know the past forty-eight hours have been difficult on all of us, but we can't start panicking about new orders. She'll be here momentarily, so let's make Captain Sarkova proud."

When a lull in the conversation arrived, Kreighen leaned over to Amanda, as if to avoid being heard. "What are they talking about? What's been happening on this ship?"

"The _Stormwind_ recently lost her captain during a difficult offensive in Spatial Grid 297," she answered. "On her way back for repairs the ship was ordered to break off from the fleet and rendezvous with a shuttlecraft to pick up an envoy with a new assignment."

"Sounds pretty routine," he replied, "if a little mysterious. Why does any of it matter to you?"

"I think you'll see why when Admiral Janeway gets here."


	4. Chapter 4

"Admiral on deck!" a young ensign announced, and the rest of the officers in the room snapped to attention.

Admiral Kathryn Janeway strode into the briefing room of the USS _Stormwind_ , followed closely by her Bolian adjutant. She was twenty minutes late to her own meeting, but the ship's senior staff were hardly going to complain to the supreme allied commander of the Borg invasion.

"Sorry I'm late," she smirked, raising an old, dented mug, "but I can't beat the Borg without my morning coffee." When everyone had taken their seats, she began. "I'll get straight to the point. Your orders are to escort me and my staff to Borg Spatial Gird 317." She looked across the table to the ship's highest-ranking officer. "Mister Lancaster, you were the first officer under Captain Sarkova?"

"Yes, Admiral," Daniel Lancaster nodded.

"Then you'll be in command of the _Stormwind_ ," she declared, "with the field commission of captain, while I command the mission. I wish the circumstances were different..."

"Understood," he replied. "Begging your pardon, Admiral, but it would help to know why we're going behind enemy lines."

"I'm afraid that's highly classified," she evaded. "All I can say is that it may change the course of this war. I want you to know, this crew was not chosen for the assignment at random. Irena Sarkova was a valued confidante, and I knew I could count on her with this sort of...delicate operation. I can't be as frank with you now as I would have been with her, but rest assured, I have every confidence in her crew to carry out my orders. Dismissed."

As the other officers filed out of the room, the newly minted Captain Lancaster couldn't shake the bad feeling he had about this assignment. He might have found a kindred spirit in Commander Kreighen, had he known the other man was present in the room, concealed by the powers of the Q.

"That might have been a new record for shortest meeting with the brass," Kreighen told Amanda Rogers. "Why is she taking this ship to meet Unimatrix Zero?"

Amanda was puzzled by his question. "How did you--?"

"There's nothing in Spatial Grid 317 of any strategic value," he explained, "except Intercomplex 934. The Zeroes were planning to invade it a few months ago--I worked with General Korok on the plan of attack. I assume he managed to capture it, or Janeway wouldn't want to visit. But you're a Q, so you should have already known I knew that."

She grimaced at this embarrassment and conceded the point. "Being all-knowing isn't as easy as it sounds, Jake. It's been years since I've even talked to a human. I don't always know how much to assume you can figure out for yourself. I think that's one of the reasons Captain Picard got along so poorly with--"

"Here's what I've figured out for myself," he interrupted. "Months ago, Janeway wanted me out of the way, so she assigned me and my crew as liaisons to General Korok, hoping I'd get killed in the process. Then Korok very nearly kills me himself. _Then_ the great and powerful Q Continuum deigns to tell me that Janeway is having a secret meeting with Korok. A meeting she would be arranging through me, since she shouldn't know I'm out of the picture. All of this has to be more than a coincidence."

"It isn't."

"Excuse me?"

"I know how you feel, Jake," she explained. "The Q wouldn't, but I used to be human. Your brain is...wired to make all the random data in the universe fit into a pattern that revolves around yourself. When I came to the Continuum, it took me months to break that habit--it didn't help that my life seemed to prove that I _really was_ the center of the universe. Some of the Q even used to tease me about being 'queen of outer space.'"

Kreighen paced around the _Stormwind_ situation room, staring at the model ships decorating the walls. When he'd considered what she had said, he responded: "I'm beginning see what you mean about communicating with me."

She smiled, and went on. "All I can tell you is that I came to you because you were stranded--far away from Starfleet or the Borg or anyone who would notice. I can't convince you this isn't about your past dealings with General Korok and Admiral Janeway. You'll just have to trust me."

He shook his head and picked up one of the models. It was a _Delta Flyer_ -class shuttle, very much like the one he had recently lost. "Lately I don't know who to trust," he muttered.

"I know." Amanda crept up behind him and placed her hand on his shoulder. "I've studied you, Jake. You know, to prepare for this encounter. I know the admiral betrayed you to cover up her crimes, and Unimatrix Zero lied to you about their conscripts. I was watching when Tirava turned against you, before you knew it was all an act..."

"Then you..." He cleared his throat as he spoke. "Then you probably know how I feel about her."

"You'd risk your life for her," she said. "But you've never had the chance, and now she's risked her life to save yours. It's so sweet."

He could hear her voice wavering as she described his recent history, so he put his cards on the table. "I'll make you a deal, Amanda. You can show me whatever you need me to see, however you think is best...on one condition. If Korok is on Intercomplex 934, then Tirava must be there too. Take me to see her."

With a wave of her hand, and a flash of light, they were gone, leaving Captain Lancaster alone to contemplate his own role in the things to come.


	5. Chapter 5

The flash of light faded and Kreighen found himself in a small chamber aboard Intercomplex 934. Rogers was behind him, her hand still on his shoulder. And to his left he found Lieutenant Tirava, sleeping fitfully on a makeshift cot.

"Can she hear me?" he asked.

"No." Amanda was gentle but firm in her denial. "No one can know we're here, Jake. We--"

The Andorian woman sat up suddenly, her one good antenna flexing rapidly. She stared in the direction of her visitors, and for just a moment it seemed that she perceived them, on some small level...

Kreighen reached out to her, trying to interpret her body language. "It's okay, Tirava. It's really me. This isn't a nightmare..."

She ignored him, leaping to her feet to pace across her "cabin," or what passed for one aboard a Borg space station. When she reached the bulkhead, she opened a hatch to rummage through some equipment. Kreighen could only barely identify a Borg medical tool, which she seemed to be loading with fluid.

"What's she doing?" he posed to his companion.

"It doesn't concern you. We have to go now, J--"

"We made a deal," he snapped. "I have to make sure she's okay."

Before Tirava could finish her work, a notification alarm sounded, indicating a more conventional visitor. She was clearly frustrated--it was a look Kreighen knew all too well--but she refused to let it interfere with her duty. "Come in," she announced. 

When the door opened her blue skin became a shade paler, and her antenna rose straight up. "Flint?"

Commander Hardcastle stepped through the entrance and smiled. "I suppose this means you remember me."

"Uzaveh," she swore, "where did you--?" Tirava looked to very nearly pounce into his arms, but stopped short as she remembered her place. "It's...good to see you. Sir."

"At ease, Ava," he said. Gesturing to his own exo-plating, he added, "It's not as if I'm in uniform these days. And neither are you...where did you find that get-up?"

She glanced down at her own garment. "This? The latest in 'Borg fashion,' I suppose, given that they haven't needed to wear actual clothing for 900 years."

"I like it," he grinned. "It, uh, brings out the color in your eyes."

"It brings out the shape of my buttocks," she smirked. "I'd have thought that would be of more interest. Or is this some human game of avoiding the topic of sexual attraction?"

"Same old Ava." His smile faded as he got to the point. "Do you remember the last time we saw each other?"

She turned away and lowered her head. "I remember you suffering severe burns right before I surrendered to the Borg--"

In spite of himself, Kreighen reached out to console her, only stopping when he noticed Hardcastle stepping forward to wrap his cybernetic limbs around her waist. "Hey. Don't do this. None of us knew what they were back then. You did exactly what I would have done in your place--"

"But you weren't," she scowled.

"So what, then? You're gonna carry that albatross around for the rest of your life? Do you think that helps anybody?" He turned her around to face him. "Look, Korok tells me you haven't been with the Zeroes very long, so take it from a charter member. We all have sob stories about being assimilated--the cultures we left behind, the people we failed to save, the lives we never got to finish. I know a man whose entire species was assimilated, and he was the only one left who hadn't broken down beyond repair. He found a way to move on, so eventually I stopped beating myself up over losing one little starship."

"So what, then?" she grumbled. "I'm supposed to look at...look at what they did to you and not blame myself?"

"Look at me, Ava." She tried to push away, but he held her tighter. " _Look at me._ You're the most beautiful sight I've seen across two quadrants. It's a damn shame for you to be the most miserable person on this station. Tell me how I'm supposed to look at what they did _to you_ , and not try to fix it?"

Tirava's lips trembled. She was just about to respond, when she appeared to be overcome by a wave of dizziness. It was enough to make Hardcastle loosen his grip, and she took the chance to return to her bed. "We should...talk about this tomorrow," she muttered. "It's been a long day."

"Oh god, I forgot about your antenna," he said.

"Right, the antenna. Don't worry," she assured him. "The disorientation will pass long before it grows back. It was...good seeing you, Flint."

"Likewise," he smiled. "Listen, Ava...back on that day I told you things would be different if the uniforms weren't in the way. Well, it looks like we cleared that hurdle. I don't know what 'different' will mean, but I'd like to find out with you."

She nodded slowly, and he finally relented, leaving her in solitude. Or such that it was, with Kreighen and Rogers watching.

"I'm sorry, Jake," Amanda finally told him. "I didn't mean for you to see that."

He said nothing at first, still taking in what he had witnessed...what he had learned about his lover. After a minute or so, he looked to her and said "It's all r--"

At that moment, the room around them grew dark. Kreighen's head began to spin; he suspected he knew how Tirava had been feeling. When he recovered, it was if he'd been transported to yet another location in the universe. But this wasn't Amanda's doing; nothing about it felt like the powers of the Q Continuum. As he surveyed his new surroundings, he found they visually resembled Intercomplex 934, but were noticeably different. The air was stale and thick, the lightning was harsh and limited, and the noise... He could hear the constant operations of thousands of Borg. Not the ex-drones in Unimatrix Zero. This place was controlled by the Collective.

The only elements he recognized in this new place were Amanda, looking remarkably terrified for an omnipotent entity; and Tirava, now back on her feet and fully aware of this new reality. As far as he could tell, she still couldn't see either Rogers or himself. But all three of them could see the same figure gliding towards them from the darkness.

"Hello, Tirava," the approaching woman called out. In the distance she seemed to be wearing a bodysuit not unlike the Andorian's, with an odd crown atop her head. But as she came into Kreighen's view, he realized her "suit" was composed of Borg body armor, and her coronet was no more than large cables protruding from her skull. Her large, chromium eyes seemed to take no notice of Amanda or himself, but examined Tirava like a lost pet.

"Go away," Tirava groaned. Kreighen had never seen her like this--defiant as ever, but somehow...resigned to this encounter.

"I have," the woman replied. "Many times. You've chased me away for days, polluting your body with every neurosuppressant you could find. But that's irrelevant now. I am here. And you will assist us."


	6. Chapter 6

"Where are we? And who the hell is that?" Kreighen demanded.

Amanda had the answers, but no way to communicate them in terms humanity could comprehend. "We're in...I brought you here by linking us to Tirava's thoughts. We're seeing what she perceives as reality. But the Borg have hijacked that perception to communicate with her."

Kreighen crept around the bizarre woman in Tirava's mind. "Never seen a drone like this."

"She's not a drone," Amanda said. "Think of her like...like the queen of an ant colony."

"She lays all their eggs?"

"No, she's the center of the hive, the reason for its existence. The Collective is governed by a single will, and this is a manifestation of that will."

The "Queen" began to speak to Tirava, oblivious to the others witnessing their discussion. "It's fortunate you met Commander Hardcastle before you could take your drugs. Otherwise you might have delayed this meeting yet again."

"It makes no difference," the Andorian growled. "I have nothing to say to you."

"How small of you. How selfish, to only consider your own interests, even if it means unnaturally altering your physiology to attain your goals. Pumping chemicals into your circulatory system...mutilating yourself. You are perverse."

"You didn't find it so perverse when _you_ were the one cutting off my antennae," Tirava quipped in spite of herself.

The Queen had a look of disappointment, as if she were truly sorry that her actions were misunderstood. "We removed you antennae because they are obsolete in the new order. I know that caused you great trauma, which is why we suppressed your capacity to experience it. It isn't our fault that you have regained the ability to suffer, or that you have injured yourself for no purpose except to suffer again."

"I did this," Tirava said, gesturing to her severed antenna, "to save a man's life."

"A man who will still die, despite your efforts, which will only compound your suffering. Like all individuals you waste your life in a futile pursuit of imperfection, resisting the inevitable."

"Why is she doing any of this?" Kreighen asked Rogers. "She can't possibly think Borg propaganda is going to get her anywhere."

"It's her nature, Jake," Amanda suggested. "In her own way, she's no different than a Borg fleet asking you to lower your shields and surrender."

"Maybe, but I still wish she'd get to the damned point."

For a moment, the Queen took her eyes off of Tirava, and cocked her head to the right. It was a subtle gesture, which might have gone unnoticed except for the smile forming across her pallid face. In that moment, a shiver ran up Kreighen's spine.

"As you wish, then," she cooed.

Tirava tried in vain to see what she was glancing at. "Who are you talking to?"

"You, of course." The Queen began to stroll around the chamber, circling her former thrall. "You have made your feelings toward the Borg very clear. So I will respect your wishes."

"Why am I supposed to believe that?"

"Because I've told you so," the Queen snapped, "but that isn't good enough for an individual. You cannot hear my thoughts and innately perceive the sincerity of my words. So you force me to make my offer provisional, because you will only believe in my generosity if you can assure yourself it is motivated by selfishness.

"I will make this simple. We are prepared to exempt you from assimilation...for a time. Since you cherish your individuality and your finite lifespan, you may have them for as long as they last. Only when you grow old, and recognize the futility of your choice, will we come for you."

Tirava rolled her eyes. "It's not much of an offer."

"You think in small terms, even when you are shown what you think you want. My gift to you is time--the time you desire to live out your existence in imperfect squalor, while the inevitable is deferred. Time to escape from Unimatrix Zero. Time to rescue your Commander Kreighen...or perhaps some other humanoid that you choose to consort with. Time to flee from a war where you do not belong."

"And what would that cost me?"

"Nothing," the Queen insisted. "Your goals do not interfere with the Collective. The Federation will never allow you to join their pointless invasion into our space. Unimatrix Zero is as much your enemy as ours."

These were harsh truths, and they rankled the proud warrior. "That doesn't mean I'm about to roll over and stop opposing you."

"And that opposition is irrelevant now. We will continue to add to our perfection, no matter what you do. And since you intend to betray Unimatrix Zero in any event, what harm is there in telling us what you know about their army of slaves?" She began to wander away from Tirava, in the general direction of Kreighen. "Have I made my myself clear enough for you?"

Kreighen stared holes through the Queen, unable to shake the feeling that she was staring right back at him. He began to concoct a colorful response to her proposition, but before he could speak, Amanda grasped his arm tightly.

"We need to get out of here," Rogers insisted. "Right now."

Tirava turned away to a corner of the room, and lowered her head. "It's a lot to think about," she admitted. Finally, she turned around and added, "I'll have an answer for you in thirty-two...hours..."

Her quarters had returned to normal. She was alone--truly alone--once more.


	7. Chapter 7

"Computer, activate Military Assault Hologram prototype, and configure for debriefing."

An array of holographic emitters lit up, constructing the illusion of a man. Once he had faded in from nothingness, he glanced around his unfamiliar surroundings until he found someone to report to. "Sergeant Ajax, reporting as ordered..." He paused for a moment, realizing who he was speaking to. "Captain?"

"Fleet Admiral, actually." Kathryn Janeway smiled behind her desk, enjoying a particularly strong blend of coffee to go with her work. "I haven't been captain of a starship for about...eight years. Do you remember that, Sergeant?"

"I...I do," he said, as if recalling a dream. "USS _Voyager_ , _Intrepid_ -class. Lost in the Delta Quadrant on stardate 48308.2...the entire medical staff was killed--"

"And for the next seven years we relied on the ship's Emergency Medical Holographic program," she explained. "During that time he exceeded the expectations of what duties a hologram could perform in Starfleet. In many ways he was the direct inspiration for your matrix. I'm not surprised your programmer chose to incorporate his algorithms into your own."

Ajax found himself staring at her, in spite of his protocol subroutines. "Capta--Admiral. When was the last time you ate?"

"Me? Oh, I'm not hungry, Sergeant. Besides, I have too much to work to finish..."

"You skin pigmentation suggests the early stages of protein deficiency," he interrupted. Without delay, he walked to the nearest food station. "Computer, one serving Feragoit goulash, with a double helping of prishic." Once the order had been synthesized from energy, he carried it to the admiral's desk. "I realize malnutrition may seem preferable to Mister Neelix's cooking, but the recipe does have certain--do I _know_ a 'Mister Neelix?'"

Janeway couldn't help but chuckle at the reminder of happier days, during her last tour in this part of space. "Never mind, Sergeant--I surrender. Given the choice between Talaxian cuisine and your bedside manner, I'll take the goulash anytime."

"Talax...ah, a member of the _Voyager_ crew. It's very curious remembering another hologram's experiences. And why should meeting you cause me to access those files so suddenly? Things like golf...opera...Ensign Kim's holonovel about 6th century Denmark..." One word finally streamed through his input buffer. "Hrunting. Admiral, the last thing I remember was serving aboard the shuttlecraft _Hrunting_ when--" 

Janeway's demeanor instantly grew cold. "Your service aboard the _Hrunting_ has been already logged and noted, Sergeant."

"But why don't I remember what happened to its crew?"

"They've been...reassigned. A secret mission, beyond your clearance level."

Ajax was thoroughly perplexed by her obfuscation. "Why would a Starfleet ensign and a Cardassian civilian be assigned to such a sensitive operation?"

She stood up, projecting all the authority she could muster. "That's not for you to know. Now, I appreciate that these people are important to you, and you're worried about their safety. But we're at war, and you have new orders."

It was at this precise moment that two things occurred. First, the door to Janeway's quarters chimed. Second, Amanda Rogers and Jake Kreighen teleported into the room from Intercomplex 934.

"What was all that about?" Kreighen asked Rogers. "You looked positively frightened of that woman."

"Quiet," she told him. "This is important for you to see."

Totally unaware of this intrusion, Janeway casually went to the door to greet her visitor. In the meantime, Kreighen began to take notice of the soldier awaiting her next command. "Good lord...is that Ajax?"

"Shh!" Amanda chided. "That isn't important right now."

"Like hell it's not!" Kreighen considered the possibility that it might be another hologram, that happened to resemble the sergeant, but he found that unlikely. Ajax was the prototype of his class, and all instances of his program had existed aboard the _Hrunting_ , which he thought had been destroyed three weeks ago. If Janeway had recovered Ajax, then...

"Amanda, there were two people with Ajax when I lost contact with my ship--Nathan Jimenez and Utana Ijhel. You can show me if they're alive, can't you?"

As Amanda struggled to respond to this request, Janeway brought Captain Lancaster in for his mission briefing. "Have a seat," she began, "and try the goulash, it's actually very good. Sergeant, I'm afraid my business with Mister Lancaster is paramount and highly classified. We'll continue our discussion later."

"As you wish, Admiral," the hologram replied.

Kreighen ignored the scene before him, focusing on his plea. "Amanda, you have to do this for me!"

"We had a deal, Jake. I let you check in on Tirava--"

"That was when I thought the others were dead!"

Amanda's eyes darted about, trying to find some way to resolve the deadlock. "Look, I'll...I'll think about it, all right? Now, please, just pay attention!"

It took about thirty seconds for Janeway to realize that Ajax was going to keep standing there, despite being dismissed. "Aren't you going to turn yourself off?" she asked.

"I...am I _allowed_ to do that?"

"I'm pretty sure you'd give me an earful if I _didn't_ let you," she smiled, again recalling his progenitor. "But if it'll make you feel better...Computer, deactivate Military Assault Hologram."

"Holographic soldiers? I thought that project had been mothballed," Lancaster mentioned.

"It was," Janeway replied. "I'll be reviewing the merits of the program to decide its future." Looking away from the captain, she addressed the ship's operating system. "Computer, seal the doors to this room. No entry without my authorization. Recognize security clearance Janeway one one five three red. Clearance level sixteen."

The captain shifted in his seat at the invocation of security clearances he hadn't even heard of before. "That sounds rather serious."

"It is, Daniel. Are you familiar with the history of nuclear weapons on Earth?"

"A tad."

"During the second world war, multiple factions were racing to develop the first fission bomb." As she told the story, she took her seat and revisited her coffee. "The first to succeed was the United States, with the Manhattan Project. Naturally this was a closely-guarded secret--only a handful of people even knew the bombs existed. This became a problem when the president of the US died in office. You see, no one had bothered to brief his successor about the project."

Lancaster nodded. "Just like Captain Sarkova had tactical information that you're about to pile onto me for the first time."

"Let me be frank, Captain--I chose the _Stormwind_ for this mission because I knew Irena for years. I expected to be working with her--with someone I trust implicitly, someone intimately familiar with the hard truths about this plan. Ideally, she'd be here talking to me, under orders to keep you in the dark about the mission."

"You needn't remind me that I've big shoes to fill, ma'am."

Janeway shook her head. "'Ma'am' will do in a crunch. But I prefer 'Admiral.'"

"With all due respect, Admiral," he observed, "if this isn't a crunch, I'm not certain what would qualify. In any event, I'm prepared to live up to the expectations you had of my predecessor."

"No you're not," she argued. "Not until I brief you on the Omega Directive."


	8. Chapter 8

The "Omega Directive," as it turned out, was a policy enforced by a secret section of the Starfleet Charter. The regulations were so strictly enforced and classified that Janeway couldn't even mention them to Lancaster until she'd formally promoted him. 

Lt. Commander Kreighen, however, had gained the inside track thanks to Amanda Rogers, eavesdropping on Lancaster's entire briefing. He learned everything--the discovery of the omega molecule by 23rd century Federation scientists, the subsequent obliteration of the Lantaru sector, and Starfleet's decision to destroy any and all information that might recreate that catastrophe. This superatomic particle was so powerful, it seemed, that the first sign of one would cause Starfleet to discard its pursuit of scientific truth and dedication to noninterference.

The Borg, however, regarded the omega molecule in a manner consistent with their standard policy. What they knew of the substance led them to consider it a model for their own vision of perfection. Assimilating the technology to create and stabilize omega was among their highest priorities. Much like fissile metals during World War II, mastery of the omega molecule would determine the outcome of the war between the Borg Collective and the Federation Alliance. And both sides knew it.

Having heard everything Amanda wished him to consider, Kreighen had been spirited back to the "backyard barbecue" where he'd first met the young woman. All was as they had left it, including the position of the sun in Aelita's cold gray sky, and the whiskey bottle in his hand.

"A toast," he suggested, lifting up the bottle, "to a job well done."

"We're not finished, Jake," Amanda countered.

"Then why did you bring us back here?"

"Because I need to make sure you can fit all the pieces together from what I've shown you."

"Well, that might be difficult." He grinned and poured himself a shot of liquor. "I was never too good at riddles. Skoal."

She glared at him as he downed the shot. "You won't get any better at it if you keep drinking that stuff."

"Probably not." He refilled the glass, and offered another toast. "May the Great Bird of the Galaxy bless your planet."

"Have you even _met_ the Great Bird of the--?" She intercepted her own misjudgement. "No, I suppose you couldn't have. We're wasting time, Commander!"

"Don't 'Commander' me," he shot back. "A commander leads. I couldn't lead Quintesson ant-droids to a picnic. A commander has a crew--you won't even let me find out if mine is alive."

"I can't!" Amanda protested. "There are bigger things at stake than your friends!"

Kreighen wiped his mouth and took a deep breath. "Lady, you're omnipotent. Just show me what happened to Ijhel and Jimenez, then wiggle your nose or something so that we go back in time to before we left. Problem solved."

"And what if I won't?"

"Then I guess I'll keep drinking." For the third time, he raised his glass in the air. "Jolan tru."

Rogers was beside herself, watching this man scoff at the task she had laid out for him. "Fine," she grumbled. "Forget it--all of it. Crawl in your bottle and cry over four people when a quintillion lives are at stake. Forget everything I've been telling you."

Kreighen took a long sip from his whiskey. When he found the glass was empty, he finally spoke. "Why exactly _are_ you telling me all of these things?"

The blonde young woman criss-crossed her arms, and the glass was enveloped in a burst of light, only to be refilled with the commander's beverage of choice. "It's difficult to explain," she answered. "This is a pivotal moment, and none of us can risk it going wrong. Oh, if they knew I was coming to you, they'd be furious. If there's one rule they follow, it's to never provoke the Borg..."

"Is that what you're doing, by talking to me?" he wondered.

Amanda nervously rubbed the back of her neck. "Jake, the Borg are about to win this war. And what's bad for your people is going to be even worse for the Continuum."

"Win? Because of Janeway's omega molecules?"

"No," she replied flatly. "That might be enough to threaten the Federation, but that's only the beginning. Every sentient being in the galaxy is at risk." She crossed her arms and turned away. "But what do you care? Drink up. I suppose I can find some other human to help me while you're pickling yourself."

He examined his shot glass, smelling the fresh bourbon. "It seems to me that if the stakes are that high, it's worth letting me see my crew."

Amanda spun around, infuriated by his gall. "Oooh! You're impossible! If that's what it takes, then--"

She was just about to twirl her hands, and meet his demands, when she was interrupted by a flash of light. The table that held Kreighen's meal was gone, and in its place was a tall man, wearing the uniform of a Starfleet officer. The pips on his collar suggested he was a captain, but the wry, unprofessional expression on his face suggested otherwise.

"Not so fast," he chastised Amanda. "You've made enough of a mess already, without letting this unctuous creature lead you about like a puppy."

She was clearly outraged to see him. "You _promised_ me you'd let me handle this!" she fumed.

"Yes, a blunder that I'll be living down for millennia," he retorted. He glanced to Kreighen and added, "But at least that gives us something in common, now doesn't it, Commander?"

Kreighen stood up from his chair, never taking his eyes off the man. When he was sure it was Q--the one from the _Enterprise_ , the one and only--he gulped down another shot.


	9. Chapter 9

"What's the matter, Commander?" Q asked. "Cat got your tongue? Most humans can at least muster up some guttural reaction to my magnificence. Perhaps you could mutter my name, with a dramatic tone that belabors the obvious. Go on, try it!" He stiffened and began to imitate Jean-Luc Picard as he shouted: " _Q!_ "

Kreighen shrugged. "I already know who you are."

"Oh, I'm sure you think you do," Q retorted, "even if you were getting your first pimple back when I first traipsed across the galaxy with Jean-Luc. What do they teach you about me in the seventh grade? That I put humanity on trial as a 'savage, childlike race'? That I formally introduced the Alpha Quadrant to the Borg? Hardly enough to truly conceive what I represent.

"Or maybe they coddled you with humorous anecdotes. 'Don't worry children, Q isn't really that bad--he was trying to help humanity with reverse psychology! He played the trumpet and made Data laugh!'" He leaned in, his visage growing darker and more sinister. "Well, I assure you, Commander, I _really am_ 'that bad.'"

Kreighen looked him in the eye for a moment, and then calmly held up his empty glass. "Can I get a refill?"

If this flustered Q, he only let it show for a microsecond. "I can see you're a tough nut to crack. No wonder she had so much trouble with you. But don't let it go to your head--as Q go, she's got a lot to learn."

Being referred to in the third person _did_ fluster Amanda, who demanded a part in the conversation. "Q, what are you doing here? I thought you were on busy on Eques III pretending to be their god of lies."

"On _Brax_ I'm the God of Lies," he corrected, feigning offense. "On Eques III I'm the spirit of chaos and disharmony, and I'd really rather not talk about it right now. I'm here because I need to clean up after you, as usual."

She stood her ground. "All you're doing so far is ruining everything I've accomplished!"

"What _you've_ accomplished is to let him gorge himself on ethanol and dead flesh!"

"I was trying to make a good first impression!" she insisted. "I suppose _you_ would have stormed up to him and grabbed him by the face like when you met me."

"Oh yes," he groaned, "that failed so miserably that you ended up returning with me to the Continuum, just like I wanted."

She saw his simplified logic and changed arguments. "Look, you've spent years making humanity hate and fear you. If we're going to get his cooperation, we need to earn his trust!"

"You haven't earned anything," Q exclaimed, gesturing to the commander. "All you've done is show him how to manipulate you." He began to mock Kreighen, to make his point. "'Alas, I'd be happy to help you, Amanda, but my heart just wouldn't be in it, unless you let me see what has become of Tiny Tim. Could you pour me another drink while I weep about my friends? Oh, woe is me...'"

"Turnabout is fair play, Q," Kreighen offered in his defense.

Amanda was shocked. "Are you saying he's _right_ about you?"

"You're a nice girl," the commander replied, "but I don't expect superhuman entities to do me favors out of the kindness of their hearts. You need me for something and I'm going to get whatever I can in exchange."

Q rolled his eyes at the human, as if watching a dog lick himself. "There, you see? He can't help but distrust anything beyond his own comprehension. It's a failing in the entire species--if they don't blindly worship you, they try to humor you until they can find some tactical advantage. I should know--I've studied them. Your experience with humans is all firsthand, living with their foibles instead of recognizing them."

"But that's not why you're here," Kreighen suggested. 

"Really?" Q huffed. "All right, Lieutenant Commander, what makes you say that?"

"Amanda's not an idiot, even by your lofty standards. Eventually she would have realized I was playing her, and with her power she wouldn't have let it interfere with her mission. No, you're in such a snit because you're worried that the Borg Queen saw us."

Q's mouth was already open, ready to hurl another verbal jab at him, but at the mention of the Queen he was speechless for a moment. Looking back to Amanda, he could only manage: "He's good."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Kreighen said, "I didn't catch that. Maybe you should dumb it down--you know, dress up like Sir Francis Drake and make some ham-fisted insults until my amoeba-like brain can comprehend it."

Q developed a rather annoyed grin as he turned back to face him. "I said you're good, sir. But you're not nearly as clever as you think you are."

"I wouldn't be here if I was," Kreighen acknowledged. "But you're not as clever as you'd like me to think. If you were, you wouldn't need me for anything."

"And what makes you think I could possibly have any need for--?" Q wrinkled his nose and glared at Rogers. "Of course. She told you so." He stifled his frustration and adjusted his jumpsuit. " _Fine._ Ordinarily, the Q would have no stake in any of your puny wars. However, in this case, there is a possible outcome that would threaten the entire galaxy. The Continuum would prefer to avoid that outcome."

"Then why do you need me? Snap your fingers and make every Borg disappear."

Q shook his head. "And here I thought we were making progress. Perhaps I should take my case to Unimatrix Zero. Amanda, you met that Hardcastle fellow, would he be a better choice? I mean for our task, that is--he's clearly a cut above in every other department..."

Kreighen stepped forward and grabbed Q by the collar, pulling him nose-to-nose with himself. For a second it looked as if he might strike the omnipotent being, but instead he only smiled. "You're _trying_ to piss me off," he observed.

"Jake, let him go," Amanda chastised him.

"I'm not going to do anything stupid," he argued. "I just want Tall-socks here to realize that he's run out of tricks. I know you need me, so you can't threaten me with being turned into some horrible creature. And I know you don't mean any of the insipid little comments you make--you're just hoping you can agitate me for your own ends."

"How impressive," Q remarked. "Why, it took Jean-Luc about...ohhhh...thirty seconds to figure those things out! But I suppose that's why _he's_ in the captain's seat, Commander."

"There's no point in giving me the runaround, Q, so just give it to me straight." He still hadn't let go of Q's tunic. "And for god's sake, just call me 'Jake' or 'Jakey-poo' or 'Microbrain' or whatever stupid pet name you can think of."

Q began to chortle loudly. "You actually think you know how to handle me! Picard, Riker, Sisko, Janeway, Spock, Calhoun...you stand on the shoulders of giants and think you can do better? How many _lieutenant_ commanders do you think I lower myself to deal with, _mano-a-mano_? Just you, and you don't even want the responsibility. Well too bad, _Commander_ Kreighen, _sir_ , because we're stuck with each other. Which probably means you'll get us all killed." 

There was a fire in the commander's eyes, but he wouldn't take the bait. "You'll have to do better than that."

"You're right," Q smiled, still in Kreighen's clutches. "And since I think better when I'm not being manhandled, let's find someplace to give you a time-out. Somewhere you can gain a better appreciation for the Borg. The Battle of Wolf 359, perhaps?"

Amanda's eyes widened and she moved to stop him. "Q, don't--!"

Too late. With a snap of his fingers, Kreighen was gone, leaving him to regain his balance and straighten his collar. "Well," he said, "that went better than I expected."


	10. Chapter 10

> Begin Captain's Personal Log, stardate 63579.2. Encrypt log entry.
> 
> Funeral services for Captain Irena Sarkova, which were postponed by my briefings with Fleet Admiral Janeway, are now complete. I must admit, I still feel the emptiness created by her passing. Given more time, I feel she would have been one of the most celebrated captains in Starfleet history. Now her legacy must be whatever this ship's crew can accomplish in her name. I shall endeavor not to disappoint her.
> 
> As it happens, my first mission as the _Stormwind_ 's captain is to complete business that Captain Sarkova had begun. This assignment is so classified that I cannot even directly discuss it in this log, or even allude to it without the proper encryption. But it's an altogether different matter that concerns me now, a mystery that I must now resolve from within Admiral Janeway's cloak of secrecy.  
> 

The captain's ready room seemed larger now. It disoriented Captain Lancaster, until he realized the source of the illusion. In all his time as XO of the _Stormwind_ , he'd always visited this room on his feet, reporting to Sarkova, usually with one or two other people alongside him. Now that he was sitting in the room's only chair-- _her_ chair--with his back was to the wall, and he could see the entire room as she would have.

When the door chimed, it took him half a second to remember that it was no longer his place to wait for the captain to answer it. "Enter," he declared, hoping the lapse in judgement would not be noticed.

Lieutenant Commander Mindek entered, with a stack of PADD tablets. "Captain Lancaster, is anything amiss?"

"Amiss?"

"You hesitated for approximately four-sevenths of a second in answering the door," she explained. "If nothing else is wrong, I can only hypothesize that you're having difficulty adjusting to your new position. That could become a problem if the crew perceives this as self-doubt in their commanding officer."

Lancaster rubbed his forehead and reminded himself, not for the first time, to account for the Benzite tendency for being a little _too_ helpful. After all, that was why he'd summoned her. "Perhaps you're right," he offered. "But I don't think anyone else aboard would notice, so let's just keep this between you and me."

Mindek raised her ulnar thumb to stroke one of the whisker-like appendages on her face, contemplating his suggestion. "As you wish, sir."

He gestured to her collection of PADDs. "I take it those are for me?"

"Personnel reports, requisition forms, and duty rosters for your approval, Captain. Since you have been unavailable for the past six hours, and our crew currently lacks a first officer, I took the liberty of handling them in your absence."

"Bucking for a promotion yourself, I see."

"I don't believe that would be necessary, Captain," she answered frankly. "I am currently the most qualified candidate aboard."

"Indeed," Lancaster concurred, "but I don't think the crew is ready for me to start shuffling everyone around. And I may need you at the helm during this mission."

"Respectfully, sir, the _Stormwind_ is cruising at warp three. It will take fifty-six hours to reach Spatial Grid 317. We're under cloak, so there is minimal risk of an attack. It would seem my formidable skills as this ship's pilot are not needed at this time."

He motioned for her to give him the datapads, which she promptly handed over. "You're right, as usual, Commander, but I have more pressing business for you. Don't worry about running the ship for me. I'll take care of that..." He swiveled his console around for her to see. "...While you look into this for me."

She examined the report on the screen and announced her conclusions. "Starfleet's 'Hollow Men' project. An effort to develop an army of holographic soldiers, so named as an ironic reference to a 1925 poem by Thomas Stearns Elliot--"

"I know, Mindek," Lancaster interrupted. "I've been researching the project for hours. When the war started, there were high hopes that holo-soldiers would play a pivotal role in overwhelming the Borg's defenses. But the programming took longer than anyone expected, until one of the Cardassian civilian advisers made a breakthrough." He punched up a new screen on the console and showed her a file photo. "Doctor Oo-tawna Itchell."

"Utana Ijhel," Mindek corrected.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You-TAIN-a eye-ZHELL," Mindek enunciated. "From the Hebitian language, referring to a form of jevonite feldspar..."

"Ijhel was working on a new prototype up until stardate 63010, when the Borg recaptured System 7723," he continued. "She went missing during the battle, but within a few days it came out that she had been part of a test mission, with her first batch of holo-soldiers--the one where Jake Kreighen brought back that Borg cube and established contact with Unimatrix Zero."

"If her holograms survived that test," the Benzite wondered, "why weren't they put into general service?"

"That's what I've been trying to find out. The official record only says that Kreighen was assigned to work with Unimatrix Zero until the Alliance could link up with their forces. But I can't find anything about Ijhel or the rest of his shuttle crew. The best I can do is an order, reactivating the Starfleet service record of Lieutenant Tie-rah-va--"

"Tir-AY-va," Mindek interjected. "From the Aenar name for the Andorian shriek-raven--"

"Tirava, then," he amended, pronouncing it correctly. "She was one of the liberated Borg kept on the reservation at 7723 before she joined Kreighen's team. I assume she was returned to duty to go with him, but why send Ijhel and her holograms?"

She began to see the cause for his curiosity, and leaned over to examine his data. "What about this person? Ensign...Jim-een-ez?"

"That's hi-MEH-nez," Lancaster smiled, clearly enjoying himself. "And there's virtually nothing on him at all. Commander, something very peculiar is going on here. I haven't the time to investigate it myself, at least while the admiral has us on this secret mission. Your...attention to detail makes you the perfect choice to get to the bottom of this."

"Aye, sir," Mindek agreed, though she raised one concern. "However...it is possible that Ijhel's fate was to undertake a top-secret mission, not unlike ours. For all we know we're headed to Spatial Grid 317 to complete work she has begun."

"That may be," Lancaster acknowledged. "But even if there is a simple explanation locked away in a classified file, there should be enough _un_ classified clues lying around for us to get a glimpse at the truth."

"Then I'll find your clues, Captain. Rest assured, by the end of my investigation, you'll know exactly whatever happened to this Doctor Ijhel."


	11. Chapter 11

The Borg had designated it Planet 48563-Theta, and so did the Alliance strategists who planned the assault that seized it. As the drones there were liberated and a base of operations was established, those stationed on the planet tended to just call it "Theta." It was only later, when the base became a prison, that it became known simply as "The Fate."

Utana Ijhel was unaware of any of this. Indeed, she didn't even know where she was being taken, not until she was thrown to the floor and the hood was torn away from her head, revealing the office of the facility's commander. The light was blinding to her Cardassian eyes, but amid the glowing blur she heard a firm, calloused voice. "Doctor Ijhel, I presume."

She struggled to her feet, trying to maintain her usual charm. "I would think that was obvious," she retorted.

"It's an old human joke," the woman said. "Five hundred years ago a renowned British physician, Dr. Livingstone, became lost while searching for the source of a major African river. According to legend, the journalist who found him in Tanganyika--a Mister Stanley--greeted him with the words 'Doctor Livingstone, I presume.'" She could see the irony was lost upon her guest. "You see, human pigmentation varies depending on the geographical origins of one's ancestors. There was only one person of Livingstone's color in all of Tanganyika at the time, and Stanley knew that."

"A delightful anecdote, I'm sure," Ijhel said. "However, I'm afraid you must forgive me--I've spent several months living with humans, and my patience has grown thin for your people's fixation on explaining the historical context of your meaningless idioms."

"Cardassians. You're simply incapable of appreciating other cultures, aren't you?" As her eyes adjusted, Ijhel began to make out the appearance of her host. Her uniform was worn and tattered, but well pressed--as if to make the best of what few luxuries available. She was perhaps fifty years old, although Ijhel had difficulty using human facial features to make that determination. The coldness in her eyes, though, belied this woman's age--to endure her stare was to imagine that she had lived through a century of constant war.

Ijhel decided to test her impression. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Commander. What experiences have you had with my people?"

"Ackerman. Commander Clara Ackerman. My mother died at Setlik III."

"I see. A senseless tragedy. I hope you can understand how difficult it is for us to admit an error of such catastrophic proportions--"

Ackerman ignored her. "All she wanted was for me to join Starfleet--follow in her footsteps. So I went to the Academy, and got my very first assignment on the _Rutledge_. You might remember her captain. Benjamin Maxwell? From the Cuellar crisis?"

"I'm not a military expert--"

"It was years later, while he was commanding the _Phoenix_. He suspected the Cardassians of installing an illegal military outpost at Cuellar. Starfleet brought him back in chains, to appease the Cardassians. Didn't even look at his evidence. He was right, by the way. After the peace treaty, the Cardies used it to supply their side of the Demilitarized Zone with weapons."

"You've made your point," Ijhel admitted.

"No," Ackerman smiled, like a shark smelling blood, "I'm just getting started. But there'll be plenty of time to go over that. Let's have a look at your record." She sat down at her desk and called up the file. "Utana Ijhel, Doctor of Computer Sciences, Cardassian Ministry of Science. You were found two weeks ago, crossing over from Borg space in a heavily damaged Borg ship, along with Ensign Nathan Jimenez and a crew of holographic soldiers."

"I was assigned by my government to assist your fleet developing those holograms," Ijhel explained.

"You _were_ , but according to this you went absent without leave six months ago. The report says your Borg ship contains a Starfleet shuttlecraft that went missing around the same time...the _Hrunting_."

"It didn't go _missing_ , I was assigned to its crew as part of an envoy to work with Unimatrix Zero--"

"If you say so," Ackerman conceded, feigning interest in her side of the story. "There's nothing in your record about that. What it does say is that you made contact with a Romulan fleet patrolling the border. They contacted Starfleet to send a representative to take you into custody...a Deputy Director Tuttle--"

"I've never met this 'Tuttle,'" Ijhel protested. "I wouldn't even know what planet he's from!"

Ackerman sighed and looked up from the report. "You'll have to tell that to the judge advocate general. I can only go by what's written here. The Romulans took you and Jimenez aboard one of their warbirds and confined you to quarters under Tuttle's supervision. The two of you attempted to escape back to your Borg ship, whereupon Mr. Tuttle was mortally wounded--"

" _Mortally wounded?_ "

"I have the autopsy right here, if you'd like to examine it. Filed by a Doctor Murdock of Starfleet Medical." Ackerman presumed her point was made and proceeded. "In light of these events, the Federation Alliance has reason to suspect that the _Hrunting_ crew entered into illegal activities, and must be incarcerated until a full investigation can be conducted."

"Incarcerated _where_? I happen to have it on very good authority that Starfleet won't send its insubordinate officers back to the Alpha Quadrant, and there are no military prisons here except for--"

Commander Ackerman read on without a hint of emotion. "By order of Starfleet Command, Delta Quadrant Operations: The remaining crew of the shuttlecraft _Hrunting_ are hereby been summarily charged with gross insubordination, acts of terrorism, and treason; they are to be held, pending a formal inquiry, until further notice at Repatriation Facility One Three Eight, on Planet 48563-Theta."

Ijhel blinked, but tried to mask her apprehension with practiced Cardassian impertinence. "That is _absurd_ , my good madam. You cannot simply toss me or my crewmates into a prisoner-of-war camp for Borg drones! Besides, I'm no Starfleet officer--they have no authority over me!"

"As of this moment," Ackerman sneered, "the only authority you need to worry about is mine. Under my command, this facility has earned the highest marks for efficiency, and I intend to keep it that way. I spend every day guarding the Borg headcases who refuse to de-assimilate, so I think you will find I have little patience left for a smug, self-important spoonhead."

Ijhel was taken aback; she'd heard of the slur, but for her generation it was a trivial relic of yesterday's wars. Hearing it from the lips of her human jailer suddenly caused it to be very _non_ trivial.


	12. Chapter 12

Once Ijhel's "orientation" meeting with Ackerman was complete, she was unceremoniously escorted into the main campus of the facility. Ensign Jimenez was waiting for her.

"Utana!" he shouted as he ran across the compound. "They told me you were in the main office, what happened?"

She began dusting off her dress, revealing no hint of dismay. "I was threatened, that's all."

"Threatened?" he repeated, incredulously. "I was told the CO was a Starfleet officer..."

"She is," Ijhel muttered. "And she's not especially fond of 'spoonheads.' I held out some hope that you were receiving the same treatment elsewhere, but I suppose not." Two guards began to approach the doorway, and she took the hint. "Walk with me, Ensign."

As they explored the prison camp, Jimenez tried to reason with her. "There has to be some mistake, Doctor. I mean, I know what Cardassian prisons are like--I mean, I've _heard_...that is...well, no offense, but..."

"None taken, my young friend," she assured him. "And you're absolutely right: Cardassian prisons are cruel places that encourage the prejudices and savagery of the jailers against the inmates. I'm afraid this outpost will be no different, at least for me. Ackerman went out of her way to tell me how much she despises my species. I expect I'll fare as well here as a Bajoran at Velos VII."

"But Federation prisons aren't like that!" Jimenez insisted. "Abolishing cruel and unusual punishment is a prerequisite for admission..."

"I know," Ijhel lowered her voice, encouraging him to do the same. "I have a cousin who was captured during the Dominion War, and spent eight months at Tantalus V. I'm told it's a lovely facility. But that's how your people are in the Alpha Quadrant, dealing with prisoners they consider equals. This place, however, is thousands of light years from the Federation Constitution. And all of its inmates, except us, are Borg sympathizers."

"What difference does that make?"

"All the difference," she explained. "Why do you think the Cardassian penal system is so brutal? A century ago our prisons were was no worse than the average Klingon gulag. But when the Bajorans resisted our occupation, the Central Command introduced atrocity after atrocity, trying to discourage their rebellion. Near the end our politicians were openly discussing genocide as a solution to the Bajoran Question. Resistance to power foments abuse of power, Ensign."

"Maybe so," Jimenez replied, "but nobody's trying to enslave these Borg--they're only here because they won't accept their right to self-determination."

Ijhel nodded. "And for a human, that's the equivalent of a Cardassian soldier being spit at by a stiff-necked Bajoran insurgent."

"I don't see the connection."

"I hope you never do." She took his hand, and pressed her palm to his. "But I'm afraid you will. What matters now, though, is that Ackerman's been stationed here too long, and she's bound to take out her frustrations on me. You'll need to keep your distance."

"That's no good, Doctor," he protested. "We have to work together if we're going to get out of here. When they brought me in here I saw the _Hrunting_ being hauled into storage. If we could get to her...I could get her up and running if you can crack their computer lockouts..."

Ijhel saw a guard walking a little too close, and guided their stroll in another direction. "Believe me, Ensign, I have every intention of escaping. But as far as I'm concerned, our priorities haven't changed. We need to convince Starfleet to stop Unimatrix Zero, and find a way to rescue Kreighen and Tirava. Our best chance of that is if you don't seem to have the wrong friends while you're here."

Jimenez still didn't like the sound of splitting up. "What if you're right about Ackerman? Suppose she...I don't know...throws you into solitary or something?"

"I can take care of myself, Nathan."

"Okay...but take really good care. Because even if I find a way to access the computers in this dump, I'm gonna need a _real_ programmer to beat a security system designed to lock out the Borg."

"And I'd sooner die," she smirked, "than allow an engineer to write hideous code in my absence. Until then, Ensign..."

As she walked away, to the other side of the compound, Jimenez observed that he was now alone. For half a year he had lived with the _Hrunting_ crew--in close quarters, like bunkmates at the Academy--and now he was out in the open, surrounded by no one. It gave him a sense of dread, and he only now recognized how important this family truly was to him. And yet, at the same time, there was an unmistakable relief. As the tension of social interaction--which had never come easy to the engineer--began to fade away, he realized that he'd grown accustomed to bearing the burden until it was finally gone. With luck, he hoped, that would only improve his efforts at an escape. 

"It will be harder than you think."

The voice startled him to the point that he nearly fell over trying to find where it came from. When he finally managed to turn around he found a woman staring at him, with dark eyes that seemed lost in a million other thoughts. Sensing his panic, she began to reassure him with a curiously aloof grin. "I'm a friend," she explained. "Don't be afraid." 

And for the first time in memory, he wasn't.


	13. Chapter 13

In contrast to Cardassian penal colonies, Starfleet correctional centers were rather comfortable, with a greater emphasis on rehabilitation than punishment. However, the Fate's prisoners considered basic comfort irrelevant, which only encouraged the staff to ignore maintenance of the barracks. By the time Jimenez came to see these quarters, they resembled nothing so much as a Borg slum.

"It isn't much by Federation standards," he was told by the woman he met out on the grounds, "but they're sufficient." Reading his mind, she added, "you'll want to have a look at the food slot, there."

Wasting no time, he approached the replicator unit. It was standard Starfleet issue, welded into place among the Borg bulkheads used to construct the facility. When he knelt down to examine the isolinear storage assembly, he found the casing empty. Obviously the guards didn't want to risk a Borg sympathizer (or a plucky young engineer) switching the unit's isolinear chips to reprogram it into a weapon or a short-range transporter. This rendered the unit a "dumb terminal," sending the user's most complex instructions through an optical data network cable to a remote computer core. Of course, the individual strands of the cable could be reconfigured just like isolinear chips. But it would be painstaking work, akin to writing a technical manual in binary.

Jimenez mulled it over for a few moments, and decided to try out the voice interface. "Computer, _agua, una pinta, quinientos grados Rankine_." A large glass of cold water quickly materialized, confirming his hopes that the replicator had access to complex informational databases.

As he took a drink he considered his new companion, who seemed content to gaze at him while he worked. "I, uh, don't think I got your name," he said.

"Oh. Right." Her gaze became a piercing glare, and she did not so much respond as _think_ at the ensign. Within minutes his mind was filled with everything she chose to tell him. 

Her name was Merrani Vystir, an ensign in Starfleet before her incarceration here. She was Betazoid, of course--he'd already deduced that much from her eyes. But she was no ordinary Betazoid--whereas most of her people developed their psionic abilities slowly during in adolescence, she was one of the rare misfits that was fully telepathic from birth. Her life had been challenging and awkward, as she struggled to process and filter the constant torrent of thoughts flooding into her mind. It was difficult for her to relate to others, especially non-telepathic species that preferred to communicate with language. She once went on a date with a Bolian boy who never asked her out again because she neglected to provide her contact information. At the Academy she found herself drawn to Terran horses--highly unusual among her people--and won top honors in the school's equestrian events. As a child she found it hard to grasp that inanimate objects did not have thoughts like humanoids, and spent years anthropomorphizing flashlights and toy trains. On a class field trip she was accidentally left in a holographic exhibit at the Natural Science Museum of Betazed, and the experience of being surrounded by humanoid images devoid of humanoid thoughts left her traumatized for weeks. As hard as it was to be inundated with every stray thought within a kilometer, solitude was intolerable for her. The guardedness of non-telepathic races unnerved her as well. The Betazoid people held nothing back, and this suited her. Her favorite sexual position was a Chalnoth technique resembling what was named the Seventh Posture by Muhammad ibn Muhammad al-Nafzawi of fifteenth century Earth. She lobbied aggressively to be stationed at Chalna after graduation, hoping that the uncomplicated, unrestrained thoughts of that world's people would suit her unusual needs. So far she found Jimenez agreeable but wasn't sure if she could confide in him due to the strong resistance he demonstrated against telepathic probing. However, she could still glean many superficial concepts from his mind, and observed that his apprehension to mind-reading might be due to a recent incident in which the Borg attempted to subdue him telepathically. Her favorite color was amaranth and she had a birthmark on her elbow.

"I...wow," he said once he recovered from the experience. "I think I forgot what I was going to do..."

"Sorry," she winced. "Um...you were going to test the replicator's ability to accept new recipes. That way you'll know if you can piggyback secret commands through the heuristic subroutines."

"Right." He caught himself staring at Vystir, as if trying to recognize an old friend, and resumed his work. "Computer, I'd like a mess of pottage, Sheliak style." The replicator began to beep with computations--all together, it would take at least five minutes to send the request over an ODN conduit, look for partial matches in the database, confirm the selection does not exist, formulate an appropriate verbal response, and send the data back over the same conduit.

"You find me attractive," she suddenly remarked. "Exotic? Interesting. But...oh...you're put off by my forwardness. You're ashamed that I take offense to that. I forgot how much duality humans maintain between their explicit and private thoughts."

Jimenez raised an eyebrow and desperately tried to change the subject of her one-sided conversation. "So, uh, what are you--"

"In for? Here in this prison, you mean? Treason."


	14. Chapter 14

"Treason?" Jimenez repeated. "As in aiding and abetting the enemy?"

Vystir looked unperturbed by his reaction as she explained. "Do you remember several months ago when the Collective suddenly developed a way to overcome the Alliance's anti-Borg shielding?" She really only asked the question to bring the answer closer to the surface of his mind, where she could read it more accurately. "Of course you do--for the first time since the invasion began, the fleet took heavy casualties. I was a security officer on the _Normandy_ at the time. I transmitted the specs for our defense systems to the Collective."

"But why?"

"Because--" she furrowed her brow, and then looked into his eyes. "You're shutting me out of your mind. It would be easier to show you my thoughts--"

"I'm shutting you out because I don't know if I can trust you." Not for the first time, he was grateful he'd learned some Vulcan techniques for resisting telepathic contact. 

She shrugged and lazily circled about him, as he studied the replicator. "Then tell me why I should trust you. Is it true you went AWOL, and murdered an intelligence officer?"

"Of course not--"

"But you're here," she reasoned. "So someone in Starfleet must be falsely accusing you, for some purpose."

"I know the purpose," Jimenez replied. "My commanding officer suspected that Admiral Janeway was deliberately blocking all contact with her superiors back at Earth. He tried to get himself court-martialed to force her hand--you know, either she'd have to send him back home for a trial or admit he was right. Instead she sent the whole crew into exile, to cover the whole thing up or something. We knew there'd be consequences if we came back. That's all this is."

"Then why come back?"

"Because--! Because we had no choice. We had to warn Starfleet about something the Borg call Species 10538. Not to mention that Unimatrix Zero is committing war crimes. That's why my friend and I have to get out of here. I have to make them hear us, even if they won't listen."

"You're trying to save people who betrayed you, after you disobeyed them," she summarized. "Why is that so much nobler than anything I've done?"

"Really?" he wondered aloud. "If you gave tactical secrets to the Borg, then you're responsible for thousands of deaths..."

"I already was," she countered, "the first time I fired on a Borg cube and destroyed it." She could see this was getting them nowhere, and came to the point. "Life is complicated, Nathan. If it were black-and-white, you wouldn't be here, trying to escape this prison. I accept that. The least you can do is accept that we share a common goal, and let me help you?"

He gave it some thought. It baffled him that she supported the Borg, to the point of actively sabotaging the Alliance's war effort. Still, he couldn't see a drawback to bringing her along. The only way past the prison's walls and duonetic fields was to contact the _Hrunting_ and activate its transporters. So the worst case scenario was that she'd be aboard his own shuttle under his supervision. The only threat Vystir posed was as an intelligence leak, but that was only when she had been trusted with actionable intelligence.

Just as he'd made up his mind, the food dispenser finally responded to his most recent request. "That selection is not available in the Federation database. Please supply a molecular structure."

"Stand by," he instructed the computer, before addressing Vystir. "This is it--it'll let me say almost anything as part of the chemical formula, which makes it the perfect vector for an LCARS injection exploit."

"And that will let you contact your ship?"

"No, but at least it'll give us voice access to the main computer." He suddenly became keenly aware of what he was doing, and the stakes involved. For most of his life it had simply never occurred to him to fret about doing anything illegal, since he never had any intention of bothering with such things. Now, though, it sunk in that he was really going to escape from prison with an enemy of the state, and the ramifications of that act weighed heavily upon him. "You're the security expert, and you've been here longer than I have. Will the guards be checking for this sort of thing?"

She closed her eyes, and opened her mind to everything in her range of perception. "I don't think so," she answered. "No one has ever attempted to escape the Fate--the compound is designed to confine Borg, and the inmates recognize the futility of resistance."

"I guess that makes sense for them," Jimenez said, "but what about you? You never even tried to dig a tunnel?"

"Resistance is futile," she argued. "We knew we couldn't get away, so it was irrelevant to try. The Borg will recapture this planet in any event."

"Then why do you want to leave now? And who's 'we?'"

The question was barely out of his mouth before he got his answer. A man shambled into the room, followed by another, then a woman, and then something only vaguely humanoid...until half a dozen people had formed up behind Vystir. Each of them appeared to be of different species, but all of them were gaunt and relatively pale, with assorted scars and amputated body parts. In a sense they were like Tirava--Borg rescued during the war and liberated from their cybernetic implants to return to normal life. But unlike her, they had not embraced that normal life. Instead they lingered here, awaiting reassimiliation.

"We are a collective," Vystir explained. "We were insufficient to resist. But now we've adapted." She walked up and took his hand in hers. "Your distinctiveness has been added to our own."


	15. Chapter 15

Even though she wanted to distance herself from Jimenez, Ijhel also wanted to avoid being alone if the guards suddenly paid her a visit. So when she decided to sleep, she sought out a room with as many people as possible. The other prisoners also appeared to avoid isolation, which became most clear when she discovered a large chamber with dozens of people "sleeping."

To Starfleet's credit, someone had provided for the inmates' creature comforts--mats and pillows covered most of the floor, and the room was reasonably sanitary. But the ex-drones evidently considered this irrelevant. Ignoring all that Starfleet had given them, they attempted to rest in the manner of true Borg--standing motionless against the walls. Without regeneration alcoves (or cybernetic ports to interface with them) this was useless, but it was apparent that most of these people had no other concept of relaxation. Some swayed on their feet, straining to keep their balance amid their torpor. Others had clearly collapsed from exhaustion.

It impressed her that there was no sign of blood here--not even from pressure ulcers that must certainly have resulted from this compulsive behavior. By human standards, the prisoners were surely well cared for. But they were not free to _reject_ human standards. Jimenez still couldn't grasp that, but it was all too clear to her. Like all humans, the guards would inevitably resent seeing their charity and mercy declined, and then the trouble would start. If it hadn't already.

Just as she settled on a spot to curl up for the night, one of her strange bedfellows suddenly spoke to her. "Utana. Ijhel, Doctor. Species two zero zero zero."

"Cardassian," she amended. "I can't keep track of your designations."

"I speak for the Borg," the decidedly non-Borg man proclaimed. "We are in contact with the one called Jimenez. To facilitate your archaic verbal communication, you will hear his voice through our collective."

"Fascinating," she groaned. "What does he say?"

"'Hang in there, Doc,'" he reported, without any of the intended tone or style. "'There's a Betazoid here networking all the prisoners together into a collective. It's a little weird, but these folks have turned out to be pretty handy. I'll keep you posted.'"

She shrugged. "Tell him to give my best to the hive mind, I suppose?"

"I will comply." He stood motionless before her for several seconds, and then cocked his head in a robotic manner. "Our thoughts are one," he added, before shuffling back to the wall.

"Stinky!" The voice came from outside the room, as a pair of guards approached the entrance. They were both human, one tall and lean and the other thick and burly. 

"Stinky, I know that was you," the burly one continued once he laid eyes on the drone Ijhel was speaking to. "'Our thoughts are one?' You know that kind of talk isn't good for you."

"Stinky" offered no defense. "My designation is Six of Eleven, Subjuncture Zero Four of System One Nine Seven Omega..."

"Yeah, but Narvy can't remember all of that," the big man interrupted, "and only Borg get designations. You're not a Borg, Stinky. You're a man."

"In that case," Six of Eleven countered, "should I not have the 'name' I choose for myself?"

"You lost the capacity for rational choice when you were assimilated," the tall one suggested. "That's why Schrier gets to make decisions for you until you come to your senses."

"You are small, hypocritical beings," Six of Eleven retorted.

"Is that an _emotion_ , Stinky?" Schrier asked. "Are you gonna get mad now? Forget all that Borg programming and do what you want instead of what you're supposed to? You don't like the name, Stinky, pick out a better one. Be an individual for once in your miserable existence."

Six of Eleven began to tremble before he closed his eyes, apparently focusing on the same telepathic network he'd used to relay Jimenez's message. His eyes darted about the room, looking to each of the other prisoners for strength.

Schrier slapped him. "Don't you let them decide for you, Stinky. You're an individual, dammit. It's your call--either stand there and let me smack you because they say so, or stand up for yourself."

"That's enough!" Ijhel shouted. "Gentlemen, this isn't necessary. This is all my fault. I was asking this fellow about his experience with the Collective--"

"Who the hell asked you, Neckbones?" Narvy shot back.

"This isn't your concern," Schrier added. "We're trying to rehabilitate these poor devils. I don't expect you to understand, but that's just how humans do things."

"I've known my share of humans, sir," she replied. "And I'm sorry to say that you're not exactly living up to the reputation of the species."

Narvy moved toward her, until they were toe-to-toe. "What a surprise, the Cardie backs the wrong side. You're probably only here to sell out the Alpha Quadrant and start an alliance between the laser-eyes and the spoonheads."

She smiled and shrugged off the insult to her people. What followed was a clinic in all of the human profanities she had ever learned, including several scathing allusions to questionable mating practices.


	16. Chapter 16

Commander Ackerman strode into the the Fate's infirmary, straight toward Ijhel. "I had a feeling I'd be dealing with you again," she told the Cardassian, "but I thought you'd at least take your time."

Ijhel was sitting on a biobed, having her shoulder examined by the prison's physician. "My people are known for their punctuality," she replied.

Ackerman found Schrier standing off to the side, weapon in hand. "What happened?" she demanded.

"She got out of line, sir," the guard answered, with far more respect than Ijhel had seen him give anyone else. "We were disciplining one of the drones and she tried to defend him. I tried to pull her away but I couldn't get her to cooperate without physical force."

"I twisted his hand with my shoulder," Ijhel added, glancing at the deep bruising on the ridge on the left side of her neck.

The medial officer took issue with this diagnosis. "It's nothing serious," he insisted. "Minor contusions along the hypertrapezius, but no broken bones."

"Oh, well if it's something serious you're looking for," she retorted, "I suggest you have a look at those wretches in the prison barracks. You've got a camp full of malnourished people suffering from exhaustion, and an empty hospital ward."

"Now wait just a minute--!"

Ackerman pulled him back. "I'll handle it, Doctor Strother."

"No, I need to say this. I'm not going to let this Cardassian accuse me of the kind of medical horrors her own society inflicts on their prisoners." Strother confronted Ijhel and continued. "You may not understand this, but for three thousand years human physicians have sworn to do no harm. If those drones refuse medical treatment, I will not defy their wishes. Even if they starve themselves refusing to eat anything they can't ingest from a power conduit, I have to abide by their choices."

"If they want treatment, they can ask for it," Ackerman summarized. "This isn't just a prison, it's a rehabilitation clinic. These people need to learn to be individuals, and we can't force that onto them. So we give them room to make the transition on their own terms."

"I'm sure that that all sounds wonderful in Federation correctional theory," Ijhel replied. "But in practice all you've done is strip away their way of life--which, for reasons I can't imagine, they embrace--and then allow them to suffer until they submit to _your_ way of life."

"If I wanted them to suffer," Ackerman said, "I'd consult a Cardassian torture manual." She glanced to Schrier and Strother. "You're dismissed. Doctor Ijhel and I have some...communication issues to work out."

As they left, Ijhel remained defiant. "Careful, Commander, you might wish you hadn't sent them away. I am a devious Cardassian, after all. Why, my ribs might launch a heinous sneak attack on your boots."

Ackerman refused to let the taunts disrupt her composure. "That you can even joke like that says all there is to say about your race. Arrogant...unrepentant...irredeemable. You're worse than the Borg. Being Borg is just some switch they stick in your head when they assimilate you. But you...you're born this way. It's as much a part of you as the spoon on your face."

"Oh please, do tell me more about the inherent moral inferiority of my species."

"It's not hard," the commander replied. "After the Minos Korva crisis Starfleet ramped up its forces along the border, and I was assigned to an outpost at Salva II, just before the establishment of the Demilitarized Zone. Well, the zone didn't help anything except give the Federation a way to convince themselves they'd made peace. When I resigned my commission and joined the Maquis, and Starfleet was all too happy to shoot at _me_ , mind you. _I_ went to prison--the Cardies that ran us off Salva II didn't. 

"Luckily for me, I wasn't in there very long. The Cardassians joined the Dominion, and suddenly the Federation realized they'd stepped in it. So an admiral came to visit one day and offered me a full pardon and my commission back. All I had to do was go to the border and kill spoonheads, which is all I was doing when they arrested me. No apologies. No admission that the Maquis were right in the first place. Because the Federation doesn't want to give up on anybody, even a backstabbing Cardassian. We couldn't even just win the damn war, we had to save you from the Dominion after you betrayed them too!"

"And your graciousness about that is most humbling," Ijhel muttered.

"Joke about it all you want," Ackerman fumed. "If it was up to me, I would have let the Dominion finish you off. You pervert everything the Federation stands for, by being the one unforgivable force in the universe. They hand you an olive branch, you use it to stick me in the eye, and they turn around and arrest me. You're insidious, and I'm not going to let you interfere with our mission here."

"Then it seems we're at an impasse," the Cardassian woman smiled, "because you can hardly beat me over the head with Federation virtues and beat me over the head at the same time."

"It always comes back to torture with you people," Ackerman sneered. She grabbed Ijhel by the wrist and forcefully dragged her to a corner of the infirmary. "Let me show you something."

The commander keyed in a series of access codes into a panel, and a hatch in the wall opened to reveal a small chamber, only just large enough for a humanoid to stand in. Proficient as she was in her field, Ijhel could quickly identify holographic emitters inside the chamber, but their purpose was unclear.

"This is what makes me better than you, Cardassian," Ackerman explained. "At times we've had to...discipline the drones, to secure their cooperation. I'm sure if you were in my place, you'd work them half to death or have them beaten in front of their loved ones. But humans abandoned that sort of cruelty centuries ago."

"If you're trying to argue that stress positions aren't torture," Ijhel said, "you needn't bother. It's a page straight out of the proverbial Cardassian manual."

Ackerman dismissed the remark and activated the chamber. The emitters fired and filled the empty space with a brilliant white light. "We built this booth from parts of an old holodeck. It only runs one simulation, based on a Vulcan meditation regimen. It creates an environment of total sensory deprivation--you don't even realize you're standing in it because the program overcomes your awareness of gravity."

"Then you 'discipline' the drones by isolating them from any sense of being in a collective," Ijhel concluded as she inspected the device. "I suppose they find it an intolerable torment."

"The only torment comes from trying to be Borg," Ackerman argued. "It's completely harmless--I even use it myself when I can't get to sleep. But since you're so certain it's a form of torture, maybe you should give it a try."

Ijhel's eyes widened at the suggestion. "Thank you, but no...given the available options I'd prefer to stay right here."

"That isn't an option." The commander looked positively delighted to relate that fact. "You can either try out the booth or I'll have Lieutenant Schrier escort you back to the barracks."

The mere mention of the name made Ijhel reflexively glance at the bruise on her shoulder. She was trapped and she knew it. Without a word of contrition, she stepped into the chamber, giving the other woman an icy glare along with her cooperation.

"Well, if you insist..." Ackerman entered another sequence of commands, and the hatch began to slide shut again. "We'll continue this discussion some other time."

Ijhel heard the hatch lock, and then nothing more than droning white noise.


	17. Chapter 17

Blinding light enveloped reality, and then it was gone. The next thing Jake Kreighen knew, he was sitting at a table, with his head held down by someone behind him. He tried to move his arms, only to find them restrained. Then he felt a sharp pain a the base of his skull--a needle that felt like it was pumping acid directly into his spinal column.

Helpless, he immediately recalled what Q had said before spiriting him away. "Wolf 359," he growled. "That son of a bitch really sent me to Wolf 359!" In his worst fears, he might have imagined Q placing him aboard one of the thirty-nine starships fated to be destroyed by the Borg in that terrible battle. Instead, it seemed he'd been deposited among the prisoners captured for assimilation.

"The hell are you talking about, soldier?" The question came from directly behind him. " _Of course_ we're at Wolf 359. Where did you _think_ we've been going for the last three years? Disney World?"

Two men released his arms, and Kreighen found himself free to stagger back to his feet. However, when he tried to stand, he discovered there was no gravity. Unused to zero-g, he began to toss and thrash about in vain, before someone reached out to steady him. "Take it easy," one of the men said, "It takes about twenty minutes to adjust to the keniclizene."

"K...keniclizene?" Kreighen mumbled weakly.

"Better take him to the brig, see if it works," another man suggested. "And let's pick up the pace around here. General Sloane wants inoculation complete by oh-two-thirty, and if she finds out we're running behind it'll be my ass."

As he was helped through rattling, decrepit corridors, Kreighen struggled to regain his faculties. But he was already keen enough to grasp one fact--he wasn't on a Borg cube, and certainly not any Federation starship that saw action at Wolf 359.

He glanced down at the uniform he was wearing, and took notice of the patches on the sleeves. The flag of the United States of America, one of the old nation-states on Earth, immediately caught his eye. He tried to count the stars, to get some vague historical context, but couldn't get his eyes to focus. Not that it mattered--he was in one of Q's little games, and if the USA was involved, then he was surely hundreds of years in the past.

Even so, the pieces of the puzzle weren't in place until he arrived at the brig. There, strapped to a chair and riddled with medical sensors and intravenous tubing, was a Kzinti.

As Kreighen's eyes met those of the bedraggled felinoid, someone handed him a potato. "Eat this," he was ordered. "And concentrate on eating it." He was too woozy to argue, but as he complied he remembered the meaning to this madness. 

Three hundred years ago, humans had only just developed warp drive and established relations with Vulcan, when the Kzinti invaded Earth. Their greatest tactical advantage was their telepathy, present in only the lowest caste of their society. The only natural defense was to fill one's mind with things the Kzinti found obscene, and as strict carnivores they could not stomach the notion of eating raw vegetables. The technique was unreliable in the heat of battle, however, leading to the development of the drug keniclizene to block telepathic signals altogether. The only way to test the effectiveness of the drug, though, was to hold a Kzinti telepath prisoner, and see if he was revolted by one's thoughts.

"Is he scanning?" a technician asked. "I don't want a false negative."

"Don't worry," said another, "I'm reading a spike in paracortical activity. He's scanning, there's just nothing to read."

"All right," the first technician said to Kreighen, "you're good to go. When you go out there, give those pussies one for me."

By now his fine motor skills were readjusting, and he was able to float away unaided. But where would he go? If he had the history right, he was in the year 2073, in a New United Nations task force commanded by Lily Sloane, at the onset of the Second Earth-Kzinti War. The fleet's best speed was maybe warp 1.3 in modern terms. That put nearest safe haven was two to three years away.

Q had been true to his word after all--he'd sent Kreighen to the _first_ Battle of Wolf 359, not the infamous massacre from his own lifetime. On the bright side, at least humanity _won_ this battle. Under the circumstances, it might have been feasible to sit back and let history play out. But he couldn't dismiss the other thing Q had said, about gaining a better appreciation for the Borg. What could Q possibly hope to teach him about the Collective by making him live out a conflict between two other cultures?

But then it hit him--Q only decided to teach Kreighen this particular lesson when he questioned Q's need for help intervening in the war. If the Kzinti Wars had nothing to do with the Collective itself, there might have been a connection to with the Borg War.

With a little more thought, he might have untangled Q's riddle. Instead, he was interrupted by a strange noise reverberating throughout the ship. He'd never heard this particular klaxon in his own time, but he recognized the general idea as being the same, in any century: Battle Stations.


	18. Chapter 18

The trouble with being called to battle stations was that Commander Kreighen didn't know where his station was supposed to be, three hundred years before he was born, on a ship he'd never seen before. The best he could do was float through the commotion, looking like he knew where was going, until he found a window where he could take stock of the situation.

As the ship maneuvered, he located Wolf 359 in the distance, perhaps a light year or two away, and then an armada of curious-looking battleships. He'd never actually seen a Kzinti military vessel, since they'd been forbidden to create or use any since the final war, centuries ago. For a moment it concerned him that he knew nothing of Kzinti tactics, or the specifics of how this battle played out in history--there was no way for him to anticipate any problems. But then he considered the bigger picture of 21st century interstellar warfare. 

It took years for the Kzinti to reach the nearest human outposts and vice-versa, so supply lines and reinforcements were impractical. The first offensive wave had to contain enough soldiers and materiel to not only secure a beachhead but win the entire war. In the First Kzinti War, Earth was caught off-guard, but this time the shoe was on the other foot. Neither side possessed subspace communications, so the Kzinti homefront was still waiting to learn the outcome of the first war when the second began. On top of the element of surprise the New UN fleet had the advantage of experience, having already developed new technology to beat the Kzinti in the previous conflict. Knowing all of this, there could be little doubt in his mind that this battle would see very light casualties, similar to the early advances of the Federation Alliance against...

The look on his face must have given away his realization, because a now-familiar flash of light appeared in the reflection of the window. When Kreighen turned around, he found Q waiting for him, dressed in the robes of a contemporary Vulcan diplomat.

"Well, Commander," he grinned, "have you learned your lesson?"

"Maybe," Kreighen admitted. "Strategically, this war isn't all that different from mine. 21st century planets sending their armies a couple of parsecs away is a lot like 24th century empires sending armies a couple of quadrants away. And the Kzinti, for all their bluster, were totally outmatched by humans at every encounter, just like the Borg are now." He could see Q getting a smug look on his face, and reconsidered the issue. "But military strategy wouldn't interest you, would it? So why send me here?"

"To tell the truth," Q dissembled, "it wasn't my first choice. I considered casting you and your little band of malcontents in _The Wizard of Oz_ , but Ijhel didn't fit in the scarecrow outfit and the whole thing seemed rather self-indulgent." The ship suddenly shook with a loud boom. "My my, that doesn't sound good."

"What's happening?"

"You don't know?" Q taunted. "We're on the NASA starliner _Bozeman_ , one of a hundred ships sent to fight the Second Earth-Kzinti War. It also happens to be the only Earth ship lost in this particular Battle of Wolf 359."

"Cute," Kreighen muttered.

"That's what you get for trying to embarrass an omnipotent entity," Q sneered. "The ship itself won't explode for at least another hour, although the Kzinti raiders that sabotage its warp core should be boarding any minute now. And I'm sure I don't have to tell you, they're quite hungry."

"That won't do you much good, if I'm killed before I unravel your little enigma."

"Oh, pshaw. In my experience, Commander, humans work much better with a deadline--the deader the better."

Kreighen grimaced and scratched his head. "You also think humans reveal more about themselves in how they play games, right?"

"I believe that's the general idea," Q replied.

"Well, then let's make a game out of this," Kreighen suggested as he approached his unwelcome companion. "It's called 'chicken.'"

As fast as he could, Kreighen reached for his sidearm--an old-style hand laser--and shot Q in the belly at point-blank range. The look on Q's face almost made this whole adventure worth the trouble. As Q examined the smoking hole through his abdomen, Kreighen pushed himself off the bulkhead and barreled through the nearest corridor.

When he found a supply locker with a spacesuit hanging in it, he quickly put it on. If Q was right, the Kzinti were going to force their way into the _Bozeman_. This being about seventy years before the first matter-energy transporter, that probably meant the cat-men would force their way through an airlock...or create their own. Breathable air was probably going to be a highly valuable commodity very shortly.

It wasn't long before he came upon a squad of soldiers desperately trying to patch a hole in the hull with whatever metal they could tear from the deckplates. The Kzinti were melting their way through; the only way to stop them was to let them in.

Most of the soldiers weren't wearing enough gear to protect them from the vacuum of space; it was a miracle they'd kept the deck from depressurizing for as long as they had. "Go!" Kreighen told them. "I'll hold them off until you suit up!" As they left, one saw he was armed only with a pistol, and tossed him a laser rifle. He gave a quick salute in thanks, and positioned himself directly in front of the glowing, melting bulkhead.

His universal translator probably didn't come with him for this little trip, but it didn't stop him from taunting the Kzinti raiders. "I've been killing Borg for two years," he snarled, "so let's see what you kitty-cats have got!"


	19. Chapter 19

The Kzinti were color-blind, not unlike the feline beasts of Earth, and wore a variety of purple, pink, and green spacesuits that presumably all looked alike to them. Instead of true helmets they wore transparent globes over their heads...perhaps to better display their feral expressions to the victims of their raids. 

Kreighen opened fire on them the moment they melted through the hull. He was unaccustomed to his 21st century laser rifle--like a soldier of this timeframe handling a musket--but it was suited to the task. The beam was faster than a phaser discharge, and could burn through anything it was aimed at. With so many Kzinti struggling to climb into the ship, it wasn't hard to train the beam on a target long enough for a lethal shot.

Unfortunately for him, more Kzinti were coming through than he could shoot by himself. Once they had him outflanked, lasers wouldn't be much help to him. There was no sign of any reinforcements coming--the men whose retreat he had guarded were either occupied elsewhere, or dead. Figuring he had nothing to lose, Kreighen made sure the rifle's bayonet was secured and pushed himself toward the mob of intruders.

Combat in a vacuum was tricky--one good hit was all it took to rupture an environmental suit and score a kill. As luck would have it, though, his suit was specifically designed to resist Kzinti melee weapons, whereas his opponents didn't even know humans had mastered edged weapons until about twenty minutes ago. So the cat-men pulled and clawed as his suit in vain, while he slashed and hacked at them with fatal results. 

It was astonishing, Kreighen noticed, how similar the experience was to brawling with Borg. Animalistic passion notwithstanding, the Kzinti had the same basic style--an overreliance on, and overconfidence in, always having the natural advantage. The slightest edge left them utterly helpless, unless they were given time to adapt. That, after all, had been the key to a lasting peace with the Kzinti--the Treaty of Sirius dismantled their military and left their technological progress stagnant, while their neighbors developed the might to contain them forever.

"Having fun, are we?" Amid the battle he barely had time to spot Q hovering nearby, still wearing his Vulcan robes, and inexplicably audible through the vacuum of space. Unsurprisingly, he'd suffered no lasting damage from being shot, though he was clearly rather annoyed.

"You've got a lot to learn about playing chicken," Kreighen retorted, without ever ceasing his struggle. "It's not about fun!"

"Yes, well, you'll pardon me if I can't see the appeal. You're wasting time, Commander--you're holding off the Kzinti on this deck, but they've already breached the _Bozeman_ 's defenses in two other places. They'll destroy this ship before you run them off...and long before you think of a way to beat me."

Kreighen allowed himself a moment to scoff at Q. "It's not about beating you either. It's about doing whatever you have to, to make sure the other guy can't win."

By now the Kzinti outnumbered him ten-to-one, with more coming. One of them nearly managed to train a laser on Kreighen long enough to burn through his suit, before he wrestled himself out of the way. Q simply watched in sardonic amusement. "If you say so," he replied, "I wouldn't know about that, Commander."

"See, that's why I shot you," Kreighen grumbled as he threw a Kzinti headlong at another. "I'll make it real simple, Q--I'll play nice if you just call me 'Jake.'"

"You think I _care_ what you do?" Q laughed. "Don't flatter yourself..."

"You didn't send me here to get killed. You wanted me to figure something out. Something you won't--or can't--just come out and tell me. It'd be a real shame if one of these Kzinti managed to depressurize my suit before I realized why the Wizard of Oz didn't just get the Wicked Witch's broom himself..."

Q suddenly lost his smirk. "Whatever do you mean?"

Kreighen found it. "I just figured--oof--figured if he was so damned great and powerful, he wouldn't need a mere mortal to handle his business. But I suppose it's like how Vulcan remained neutral in the Earth-Kzinti Wars... _officially_ , anyway..."

"Nice try, sir," Q said. "But if you think that's enough to make _me_ capitulate to an arrogant, self-righteous, bipedal insect like yourself, you're sadly mistaken."

"If you say so!" Kreighen huffed. A full two dozen Kzinti had made it through, and the numbers were beginning to negate the advantage of his superior technology. "I don't mind going down swingin', but it seems like--hh--like you won't have anyone else to fight these guys when I'm gone."

"It isn't my fight."

"And you'll do anything to keep it that way."

The Kzinti finally piled over him, and Q's face curled into a frown once he was sure the human wouldn't have the satisfaction of seeing it. "Perhaps not as much as you think, Lieutenant Commander. A pity, though--you _had_ potential, though I suppose it meant little when paired with the obstinance of a Klingon goat."

He was content to float in space and watch for a time, until the _Bozeman_ shook in airless silence. "Ah, that would be the warp core, I believe. I'm afraid time's running out, sir. Now, I realize it isn't easy to swallow your pride, misplaced as it may be. But there really is no purpose in holding out any longer." 

There was no answer from amid the throng of Kzinti--in fact several of them began to float away, in search of other humans to fight. 

Q almost appeared agitated. "You know, this is just like you, Kreighen!" he snapped. "Oh, I know all about you, and when it comes right down to it you can be such a child. Your ridiculous attachment to remaining a helmsman might as well be that of a six-year-old insisting on sitting in the front seat. And don't get me started on your pretentious infatuation with that Andorian valkyrie--" He squinted, and couldn't seem to locate his companion. "Are you even _listening_ to me?"

As the seconds dragged on, Q's nose wrinkled with disgust at his own predicament, until he could finally stand no more. "Oh, very we--"

His hand was raised, poised to snap his fingers, when everything vanished in a flash of light. Q found himself back in the 24th century, on Aelita, in his usual Starfleet uniform. He was face to face with a disapproving Amanda Rogers...and a rather smug Commander Kreighen.

"What do you think you're doing?" Q thundered. "I was _going_ to bring us back here! He was almost ready to beg for mercy!"

Amanda said nothing, content to glower at her incorrigible mentor. Kreighen, none the worse for wear for his exploits, was also silent, save for a single gesture. As he smiled, he held up his thumb and forefinger just a centimeter apart. Q took his meaning, though he tried to ignore it.


	20. Chapter 20

Q was livid. "That does it," he fumed, "I'm not going to let this obnoxious bag of sweat mock me, even if it's only for the rest of his transitory little life."

Kreighen stood his ground. "What are you gonna do? I figure you'll threaten to turn me into _something_ , but I can't decide whether it'll be a Talarian amoeba, a Tamarian jellyfish, or a Terellian roundworm."

"How about a--" Q started to answer, only to pause and reconsider the creativity of his choice. "Well...I'll think of _something_ , and rest assured it will be _profoundly_ unpleasant for you!"

"Enough!" Amanda Rogers shouted, moving between them.

" _He_ started it!" Q said petulantly. "He _shot_ me!"

"I don't care," she replied. "There is too much at stake for the two of you to continue bickering! Now Jake, I'm sorry about what Q put you through, but what's important right now is whether you understand why we need your help."

Kreighen calmed down and answered the young woman with more respect. "Not entirely..."

Q rolled his eyes. "Oh, big surprise."

"...But I'm pretty sure I know why you can't come out and tell me," he continued. "The Q are in the same position the Vulcans were three hundred years ago. They were the superpower of their corner of the galaxy, but they couldn't exercise a real hegemony on the region because the risk of war was too dangerous. They considered the Kzinti a growing threat, which they could have easily crushed, but that would have meant giving them an opportunity to learn from Vulcan technology. So when the Kzinti attacked Earth, the Vulcans stayed on the sidelines, hoping that humanity would win and the Kzinti would have less to gain. The Continuum is playing the same game--they needed someone to stop the Borg so they wouldn't have to. And you picked humans as your proxy."

"Don't be absurd," Q groaned. "The Continuum would hardly choose your pitiful species--"

"I'm sure they wouldn't have," Kreighen acknowledged. "So _you_ went behind their backs, Q."

"Me?"

"It's Continuum policy not to provoke the Borg, right?" Kreighen observed. "And you were punished for taking the _Enterprise_ to get its first look at a cube..."

" _Au contraire, mon capitaine de corvette_ ," Q countered. "I was exiled _before_ that little incident. Perhaps you should organize your tape collection..."

"You were banished beforehand," the commander admitted, "but after the Borg incident you were stripped of your powers. I think the Continuum knew that you wanted to start a Federation-Borg war all along, and when they couldn't discourage you, they flat-out threatened you with mortality."

Q had no response to this. He could only glance over to Amanda, who was satisfied with Kreighen's theory. "Tell him," she said.

"Ennh, I suppose it would save time," Q grudgingly conceded. "Like all of your race, Commander, you arrive just close enough to the truth to be dangerous. My goal wasn't to start a war but to prevent one. The Continuum has forbidden direct interaction with the Borg for over eight hundred years, but being the nonconformist genius I am, I came to question the wisdom of that policy. 

"So in my travels across the galaxy I sought out a society that could rival the Borg without becoming as great a threat. If you think I'm a thorn in humanity's side, you should have seen the trials I put the Krenim through, or the El Aurians. All along, humans were ranked very low on my list, until about forty years ago..."

Kreighen looked to Amanda, who confirmed his guess. "When my parents gave up their powers to live on Earth."

"Neither of you can conceive of the debate and chaos that decision caused in the Continuum," Q explained. "The only other species to have such a severe impact on our society was the Borg itself. I was therefore drawn to investigate, though it remained to be seen if you could be more than--"

"A 'dangerously savage child race?'" Kreighen quoted, from Q's own words.

"Look at it from Q's point of view, Jake," Amanda offered. "You need someone to keep the Borg in check, to shoulder the risks without exploiting the rewards. Would you trust the Nausicaans to do that? Or the Orions, or the Ferengi?"

"Precisely," Q added. "Humans have more potential than any of those cultures, but I had to be sure they were...mature enough to accept the kind of responsibility that potential attracts."

"And I suppose Captain Picard finally convinced you that we are," Kreighen concluded.

"Actually," Q clarified, "your beloved Admiral Janeway had more to do with that. Her arbitration of several disruptions to the Continuum demonstrated a capacity to transcend human comprehension in ways that impressed even myself. So I assisted her wayward ship's trip back to Earth, knowing she'd provide the Alpha Quadrant with the intelligence to truly deadlock the Borg."

Kreighen blinked at him. "You call all this a deadlock?"

"Yes, well, the cold war I was looking for got a bit hotter than I would have liked. I suppose it's harder to achieve a stalemate when queens are in play. The Borg conquered Bolarius IX, in a rather daring and unexpected move by their standards. And Kathy is quite the little spitfire..."

The commander shook his head. "The thing I don't get is, if you and Janeway go way back, and she's the source of the problem, why don't you just take this directly to her?"

"It's too late for that," Amanda answered. "The Federation Alliance is committed to the war now, and so is the Continuum. At this stage the only possible reduction of hostilities would be withdrawal. And if the invasion fleet returned home without defeating the Borg, it would demoralize any future efforts to try again."

Q nodded in agreement. "Besides, Janeway's hotheaded management of the war isn't the problem _per se_. You see, the Continuum's concern is that she's moving quickly enough to shift the balance of power in this quadrant. You might not like being called a member of a dangerously savage child race, Commander, but you'll surely admit that such races do in fact exist. In fact you've met the most dangerous, most savage, most childlike of them all, on this very moon. Care to take a guess?"

Kreighen knew the answer, though it only raised more questions. "The Xhiryptyr'x."


	21. Chapter 21

"What _about_ the Xhiryptyr'x?"

"Anything you can tell me would be helpful," Tirava answered. "They seem to be the linchpin of Unimatrix Zero's strategy, but I know almost nothing about them."

That was a lie. She'd become practiced in spinning them lately, to her everlasting shame. Several weeks ago she had met a small colony of Xhiryptyr'x, who had escaped from Unimatrix Zero's control. They had told her and Kreighen a great deal about their culture--that they had once been a sect of the Kazon Order, until a freak accident with their propulsion systems left them "hyper-evolved" into a new race of reptiloid beings. The Borg, however, still perceived them as Kazon, and automatically dismissed them as unworthy of further study. But Commander Hardcastle didn't need to know that she knew this...or that she was collecting information for the Borg Queen.

"Well," Hardcastle began as they strolled through the corridors of Intercomplex 934, "I haven't had a lot of direct contact with them, so I don't know what I can tell you. The way it was explained to me, one of our spheres came across them in a huge transport ship, nearly as big as a Borg cube. The ship was primitive, even by Federation standards thirty years ago, with virtually no protection from delta radiation. They'd taken heavy damage, so the Zeroes took them in and offered them medical treatment. Later, the same sphere came under attack by the Collective, and the Xhiryptyr'x offered to help. That was when we realized the Borg totally ignored them, because they were Species 329."

"Right, the Kazon. Do you know what changed their physiology?"

"The Xhiryptyr'x said it had something to do with breaking the 'infinity barrier,' whatever that means," Hardcastle recalled. "All I know for sure is that it left them thousands of light years from Kazon territory, strewn throughout Borg space. Zeroes all over the quadrant have standing orders to locate and capture them wherever they might be."

"But why capture them?" she asked. "It sounds like they were willing to work with you as equals..."

Hardcastle directed her around a corner as he prepared his response. "I know--it sounds atrocious, especially to Zeroes from the Federation. But since they're technically Kazon, the Xhiryptyr'x are virtually cloaked from Borg sensors and security protocols. They're immensely valuable to us as soldiers. Trouble is, they're just as stubborn and proud as the Kazon. When we tried to negotiate a mutual defense pact, they demanded that we surrender our ships and swear fealty to their sect. I heard they destroyed one of our squadrons over some petty disagreement."

"How'd they manage that?"

"They've got some sort of ESP powers, I think--you have to stay on your toes with them. But since their ships are so primitive, it's relatively easy to subdue them if you know how. We ended up detaining them and surgically disabling their telepathic abilities. It wasn't popular, but in the end we decided that it's in their own best interest to help fight the Borg, whether they want to or not.

"Still, we treat them as humanely as possible." They arrived at a large hatch, which Hardcastle opened with his security codes. Inside was an enormous chamber, possibly what had once been a Borg assimilation bay, reconfigured to serve as a makeshift village of Xhiryptyr'x conscripts. "See for yourself."

There were hundreds of Xhiryptyr'x, all easily identifiable by the bright plumage atop their scaly faces As Tirava walked through the chamber, she saw them going about the simple chores necessary in a small community. Were it not for the heavily armed Zeroes posted at every corner, she might have thought she was visiting some town on an alien planet. The Xhiryptyr'x went about their business like a defeated people, long past the point of trying to resist their oppression. As repulsive as she found this culture to be, it sickened her to see any sentient beings treated this way.

"Do you finally see the fallacy of individual freedoms?" a voice called in the back of her mind. Tirava could only continue walking through the chamber, trying not to let on that she was in contact with the personification of Unimatrix Zero's enemy. "Self-determination permits oneself to subjugate others. The only true freedom is the perfection of a single vision, shared equally by a collective."

"You all right?" Hardcastle asked her. "You seem a little distracted."

Tirava gave him a reassuring (albeit false) smile and gestured to her missing antenna. "I'm not quite all there," she explained. "I think I want to have a look around here by myself for a while. It's...relaxing, somehow." She leaned in toward him and gave him a polite kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you later tonight, okay?"

He understood, of course, and took her at her word, of course. It made her nauseous to watch someone she cared for be so completely taken in by her deceit. And so when she was finally on her own, and lost herself amid the Xhiryptyr'x "colony," she addressed the Queen in a particularly hateful tone. "What do you _want_?"

"What you agreed to give me," the Queen answered. "The information we requested, and the conviction to fulfill your obligation. Hopefully this display of individualistic barbarism reminds you that you have no sympathies for Unimatrix Zero."

"I know you heard everything Hardcastle told me," Tirava muttered under her breath as she wandered through the camp. "What else do you need? The only reason the Xhiryptyr'x pose a threat to the Borg is because you refuse to acknowledge them as a threat."

"They aren't a threat at all. If they were we would have seen to their assimilation. However, their nature raises certain questions that interest us. This 'infinity barrier,' for example. We must know more about its effect upon this culture."

Tirava found this reasoning contradictory. "If you're that curious, why wouldn't you have your Borg drones assimilate the answers to your questions?"

"I _am_ ," the Queen replied. 

Tirava felt a chill in her bones, colder than the deepest Andorian seas. Her pace quickened, but she couldn't escape the Queen or the truth. She was as much a slave as the Xhiryptyr'x, and every bit the enemy collaborator she was when she was assimilated. It didn't matter if every side in this war was equally vile, or if her own honor was permanently stained. She could not go through with this pact with the devil, not even to save her soul.

"You're resisting," the voice in her head chastised. "You allowed Hardcastle to think you knew nothing about the barrier, but you've heard of it. Commander Kreighen explained it to you...but the memory of that is deep. Half-forgotten by your waking mind. Our connection is too weak to penetrate into your subconscious. Assist us."

"No!" Tirava began to run through the tents and lean-tos in the chamber, trying anything to close her mind. This was dangerous--if the Zeroes realized her dilemma, they'd kill her rather than risk a security breach. There was nowhere left to turn--Kreighen was light years away, the Federation had abandoned her, Unimatrix Zero had betrayed her, and the Borg would never stop until...

"You're afraid," the Queen continued. "Fear is irrel--ant. Shame is ---elevant. You -ust c-mply. Res-----ce is fu----"

A wave of dizziness halted Tirava's panicked spree, and this time it wasn't an exaggeration to excuse herself from Hardcastle's company. The Queen was gone. Somehow she just _knew_ the Borg's connection to her mind was cut off. There was a silence now, like the sudden absence of background static that she wouldn't have noticed until it was gone. Something had interfered, and saved her, but what?

When she looked around to get her bearings, she found the answer. A Xhiryptyr'x girl, no older than thirteen, perhaps, staring at her intently. Her gaze was dead and beaten, but Tirava saw purpose in those elliptical eyes. The Zeroes claimed to have removed the Xhiryptyr'x's telepathic abilities, but Tirava now knew that at least one of them had managed to slip through the cracks. 

Perhaps there was still one place left to turn, one faction in this war that could still be trusted to help her. If this girl could block out the Queen, then it was possible she had the power to save the conscripts aboard this station. And if the Xhiryptyr'x--their entire population, not just those enslaved by the Zeroes--were alerted to the atrocities in this region of the galaxy, then they just might be able to bring an end to this war...


	22. Chapter 22

"But _why_ does everything revolve around the Xhiryptyr'x?" Kreighen wondered. "I can see how Unimatrix Zero's treatment of them might scandalize Admiral Janeway if the Federation finds out. But that doesn't explain why the Borg Queen is so interested in them. They're just Kazon who were mutated by breaking the warp 10 threshold."

"The Borg...don't entirely know what's so special about them either," Amanda began. "The Collective has assimilated virtually nothing about them. But the Queen probably realized there was a greater significance to them because..."

"Out with it," Q pressed. "Being all-knowing means recognizing your mistakes."

She looked at her mentor and sighed. "I thought I could keep the Queen from perceiving us when we visited Tirava on Intercomplex 934. But somehow she knew we were there, and that it had something to do with the Xhiryptyr'x." She seemed relieved to get it off her chest, and suddenly flew into re-examining her mistake. "I was sure we were concealed in every respect!"

"Don't take it too hard," Q reassured her. "She's got a few centuries of experience on you. We just have to get you to stop thinking in five-dimensional terms. What's important is that Borg can tell that the Xhiryptyr'x are important to the Q, but they most likely can't figure out why."

"I didn't realize the Borg even knew about the Q Continuum," Kreighen said.

"Of course they do." Q sneered at his ignorance. "They assimilated Jean-Luc, after all. And even before all that, we've had direct contact a time or two, before the Continuum instituted its hands-off policy. But the Borg don't comprehend the Q, not really. They only understand us as raw material, like humanity. They'd assimilate us if they could figure out how, but they lack the imagination to make that possible. You've observed that behavior first hand, I believe...in the incident at that microquasar a few months back."

Kreighen knew what he meant. "When my crew collaborated with a Borg ship to save ourselves from Species 10538. Their psychokinetic attacks could destroy whole starships, but all those drones understood was phasers and shields. It's like they're wired not to think about anything beyond the goals of their culture."

"That's right," Amanda said. "The Borg want to be more powerful, so they understand the conventional advantages of assimilating the Q. But they don't want to _be_ Q, so they're not allowed to consider what we really are or how to engage us."

"They're like Klingons hoping they could just eat our hearts," Q elaborated, "or Ferengi asking us to name our price. They lack the transcendental qualities that inspire a culture to go beyond what they understand. It's one of the reasons they're so bent on the conquest of humanity."

Kreighen found this unlikely. "Because we think outside the box?"

"It's more than that," Amanda explained. "When I was...when I _lived as_ a human, I was bright and good at unconventional thinking. My test scores qualified me for any track at Starfleet Academy. But none of that prepared me for being Q. What helped me make the transition was my imagination. Human experience taught me I couldn't do the things the Q are capable of, but I could fantasize about what it would be like if I really could. So can you, Jake--so can any of us. But it's a remarkably rare talent in the universe."

"Let's take that warp 10 threshold you spoke of," Q suggested. "Are you familiar with the experiments performed by Janeway's intrepid little crew?"

"Uh...yeah, some of it. Commander Paris piloted the test flight, and afterwards he was transformed into some weird creature. I guess it was what humans are supposed to evolve into after four million years..."

Q grinned at this speculation. "And how would this threshold of yours know how to do something like that to ol' Tommy boy?"

"Well, I'm no subspace physicist..."

"Perhaps some background on the man would help." Q snapped his fingers, and the harsh wilderness of Aelita was replaced with the boyhood bedroom of one Thomas Eugene Paris. The walls were covered in posters for ancient films-- _Monster a Go-Go_ , _The Incredible Melting Man_ , _Night of the Blood Beast_ , and many others. "You see, Paris was nervous before that flight, his head full of thoughts about venturing into the unknown, and other human nonsense. And his thoughts undoubtedly turned to his love of 20th century speculative fiction, which often featured tawdry tales of pioneering space explorers being inexplicably transformed by the mere act of going where no one else has."

Kreighen examined some of the movie posters. "Are you saying he somehow _willed_ actual events to resemble the plot of one of these...cinemas?"

"What I'm saying is that at the edge of infinite acceleration, time, space, and thought merge into a unified force, which your species could not hope to control for another millennium or two. For a brief moment, Mr. Paris panicked, and his fears became reality. He took Janeway on a second test flight, but since Kathy is a fearless, rational kind of gal, she imagined the effects on her would be exactly the same...and so they were."

"I suppose that makes sense," Kreighen considered. "Sort of like having a magic lamp and making wishes without realizing it. So when the Kazon-Jeptruux recreated those experiments, why weren't they transformed into whatever they were thinking of, instead of the Xhiryptyr'x?"

"The Jeptruux," Amanda said, "acquired the warp 10 data because they wanted to become a major force in the Delta Quadrant. When they entered the transwarp threshold, they were hoping it would make them a powerful race...greater than the Kazon-Nistrim, greater than what they knew of the Federation and the Ocampa. They got what they wanted."

"You just haven't noticed," Q observed, "because the ones you've met have been lobotomized by Unimatrix Zero. Well...not _all_ of them, I suppose..."

At last it came together, and it threatened to hit Kreighen like torpedo. "Species 10538. The Collective gave them that designation based on what little data it had on their ships. But if the Borg had ever seen one of them...and lived to report to the hive mind about it...they'd realize that it's not a new species at all. They're the Xhiryptyr'x."

Q snapped his finger and returned them to the harsh surface of Aelita. "Imagine if you will, Commander: A race as powerful as the Talosians, with the same capacity for transcendence as humanity...but the same petty territorial ambitions as any Kazon. Left alone, they might conceivably destroy the Borg Collective, and become an even greater threat. But they _haven't_ been left alone--instead, Unimatrix Zero has poked a very large, very dangerous bear."

"The Zeroes don't realize how powerful the Xhiryptyr'x really are," Amanda added, "so they only value them as conscripts. The Borg could easily assimilate the conscripts, except the Collective doesn't realize that they're members of Species 10538. The further the Xhiryptyr'x get dragged into this war, the more likely it becomes that they'll be conquered by the Borg."

Kreighen nodded slowly. "You don't have to tell me how bad that would be."

"Yes, we do," Q insisted, "because it's a degree of 'badness' that you can't begin to comprehend. The Borg would assimilate vast telekinetic power and the means to access the transwarp threshold. The Federation and its allies wouldn't stand a chance against them. But it wouldn't end there. What the Kazon achieved by accident, the Borg would pursue with unholy efficiency, until they came to master the blending of space, time, and thought.

"Then they'd set their sights beyond assimilating corporeal life forms. Continuum projections suggest the Organians would be the first to fall. Then the Thasians, the Cytherians...the Prophets of the Bajoran Celestial Temple... Eventually they'd venture out beyond the galaxy, by which time the Kelvans and the Nacene would be no match for them."

"By our estimates," Amanda grimly concluded, "what you think of as the observable universe would be completely assimilated within seven hundred years."

Kreighen was speechless. He literally could find no words for the magnitude of the crisis they were describing to him.

"Of course," Q added, "that's assuming the Borg don't learn to stabilize the omega molecule."


	23. Chapter 23

> Captain's log, supplemental. Encrypt log entry.
> 
> The _Stormwind_ continues to its destination, under cloak and at low warp. Commander Mindek has concluded the investigation I assigned to her, but first Admiral Janeway and I have other matters to attend to.

"Where the hell is she?" Chief Engineer Eudon thundered. "You'd think she'd at least drop by just to tell my department to shut up!"

Captain Lancaster was far more composed about the matter. "I'm certain the admiral will be happy to answer your questions, Chief, insofar as security allows."

"I don't give a damn about security," Eudon grumbled, "and no one else on this bucket will either if we can't pick up the pace."

"Admiral on deck!" a crewman announced, only moments before Janeway came into view from the corridor. The rank-and-file engineers snapped to attention as she made her way through the room.

Eudon, on the other hand, made no effort to respect protocol. He was over two meters tall, with a thick muscular build, and when the admiral approached him he towered over her with the bloodthirsty stare of a Klingon. "About time you showed up," he seethed.

Janeway looked up...and only found his broad chest, so she looked up again and finally located his eyes. "As you were," she said calmly, albeit a tad surprised by the size of the man.

"Ah, Admiral," Lancaster explained, "you remember Master Chief Eudon from your earlier briefing...the ship's head of engineering. I should probably note that he's a--"

"A Zaldan," Janeway replied, never taking her eyes off of Eudon. "Which means I can expect him to express himself candidly without the slightest hint of courtesy or decorum. Well, Chief, I'm fully aware that you find politeness disrespectful, so let me be equally candid: I'm very busy, I don't have time for your interruptions, and this had better be important or you'll spend the rest of this war scrubbing plasma conduits. Have I made myself clear?"

Eudon's sneer slowly twisted into a sadistic smile. "Me and you will get along fine, then, Admiral."

Lancaster breathed a sigh of relief that they wouldn't kill one another, and got to business. "Now then, Admiral, Eudon was just telling me about a problem he's been unable to resolve due to the nature of our mission. Since the matter is so deeply classified I thought it best to seek your input. Eudon?"

"I'll make it real, real simple," Eudon grumbled. "I don't know what we're carrying in Cargo Bay 3, but it's generating tetryon emissions that are leaving a trail a kilometer wide."

"Our cloaking device can't mask the tetryon wake," Lancaster added.

Eudon glared at him, but continued. "If it was up to me I'd dump the cargo, or turn around and get out of enemy territory. The Captain says we can't do either of those things, but he doesn't know why."

"I do," Janeway said bluntly. "Recalibrate the cloaking device--redirect power from the shields if you have to."

"You think I couldn't have thought of that?" Eudon shouted. "It won't do any good if I don't know what I'm trying to cloak! The ship's manifest is classified and sensors show a blindspot where the cargo bay ought to be. I can only measure its weight by checking the change in mass of the ship!"

Lancaster struggled to smooth out the dialogue. "He has a point, Admiral. The cargo can't reach its destination if the Borg detect us first."

Janeway rubbed her temples as she thought it over. When she'd reached a decision, she pulled Eudon aside, out of earshot from the rest of the engineering team. "Red matter," she explained. "We're transporting six grams of red matter, along with one thousand kilos of boronite, flerovium, and yominum. Do you need me to spell all of that, or do you think you can handle it?"

"So that's why we're going so slow," Eudon realized. "Keep your shirt on, Admiral, I'll get the cloak fixed and deliver your 'goods' on schedule."

"Very good," Janeway answered. "If that'll be all, gentlemen, I'll be in my quarters--"

"Excuse me, Admiral," Lancaster interrupted, "but if I may accompany you, there is one other issue I need to discuss with you."

Janeway hid her annoyance from him about as much as she had from Eudon. "Make it quick."

"As you wish," the captain said as they proceeded through the hallways of the _Stormwind_. "It concerns the holographic soldier we spoke about this morning..."

"Ajax isn't your concern, Captain..."

"Be that as it may. Its presence on my ship led me to notice a...discontinuity. I was hoping you might account for the whereabouts of this 'Ajax,' or its programmer, for the past eight months--"

She clearly didn't care for his line of questioning. "They were on a special assignment."

"Would that be the same assignment as Lieutenant Commander Jacob Kreighen?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. I take it you're going somewhere with this, Captain."

"Only that I could find no record indicating the whereabouts of Mister Kreighen, or anyone under his command. I find it odd that neither he nor his vessel is reported to have returned from this 'special assignment,' and yet this hologram somehow made it back on its own."

Janeway led him into a turbolift, and gave it rather curt instructions. "Deck Five. I suppose you've considered the possibility that information about Kreighen's orders are beyond your security clearance."

"Yes, Admiral, I have. But among his crew was an engineer, one Nathan Jimenez. And I find it highly curious that this fellow should come straight out of the Academy and be assigned to Starfleet special ops. So I ordered an investigation, to determine the last known actions of Mister Kreighen and his associates."

"Did you, now?"

"It wasn't easy to dig up the records," Lancaster observed, "and once I had a look at them, I could see why. The report showed Commander Kreighen was in violation of a dozen Starfleet regulations--if we were in the Alpha Quadrant, he'd be making gravel at Jaros II by now."

Janeway's poker face didn't flinch. "But we're not in the Alpha Quadrant."

"But it wouldn't be difficult to send someone back there for disciplinary action," he continued. "Unless you had a motive to avoid contacting your superiors back home."

She raised a dubious eyebrow and addressed the turbolift. "Halt. It's a fascinating theory, Mister Lancaster. But not a very credible one."

"Ordinarily, I would agree," Lancaster admitted. "However, these are extraordinary circumstances. I am conducting a secret mission to transport the components of an experimental subspace weapon behind enemy lines. What little I know of your 'omega molecule' suggests that these orders are highly irregular, and worthy of further review. It seems prudent to re-establish contact with Starfleet Command on Earth, to seek authorization for this operation. Wouldn't you agree?"

Janeway smiled and threw her hands in the air. "You know what I think? I think some officers let the fourth pip go to their heads. Some of them might even think it gives them the right to lecture an admiral about the chain of command. Fortunately, you and I both know that an admiral is well within her rights to prosecute a war without constantly checking with headquarters."

"Unless her judgement is being called into question," Lancaster retorted. "Say, by one of those hotheaded starship captains you were just mentioning."

Janeway glared at him from across the turbolift. "Now you listen to me, because I am only going to say this once. I lobbied hard for this war, and I came to the Delta Quadrant to win it. We've come this far, and I will not let you, or Kreighen, or any panicking bureaucrats on Earth interfere."

Lancaster kept a stiff upper lip as he replied. "And I shall say this only once, Admiral. I swore an oath to Starfleet and the Federation, not to you. It is my duty to observe that your decisions in this matter may not be entirely objective, and may not serve the best interests of the Federation or this war. Were it possible for me to take my concerns to a higher authority, I would. However, as it stands, I must insist that this matter be resolved to my personal satisfaction."

Janeway grit her teeth, furious at his unhesitating defiance. For several long seconds she said nothing, though it appeared to Lancaster she knew exactly what she wanted to tell him. When she finally did speak, it was only upon tapping her communicator. "Janeway to Ajax. _Scorpion._ "

A transporter beam enveloped the admiral, and she vanished in a flurry of light. Lancaster was taken completely off-guard, but he knew his duty and did not waste a moment. "Lancaster to bridge," he called after slapping his own comm-badge. "Red alert. Locate Admiral Janeway immediately."


	24. Chapter 24

"Scorpion" was simply a codeword, but for Sergeant Ajax, the three syllables represented an entire subroutine added to his holomatrix by Admiral Janeway. As soon as he received the message, he instantly became aware of her security access codes, and was compelled to enter them into the ship's computer to gain access to the transporter system. At his best speed--far greater for a hologram than for a flesh-and-blood humanoid--he locked on to both himself and the admiral for a site-to-site transport. As his mobile emitter was transported from her quarters, he too experienced the sensation of dissolving into nothingness, only to be rematerialized in another part of the ship.

He found himself on Deck Seven, Section Four, standing in the middle of a corridor with Janeway. "Admiral?"

"Escort me to Shuttlebay Two, Sergeant," Janeway explained. "We're evacuating."

"Evacuating? Why?" Ajax had only just noticed the flashing red lights in the corridor when a security team began approaching their position. "What's going on?"

"Mutiny," she answered curtly. "You have your orders, Sergeant--I have to get off this ship."

"Admiral," a lieutenant called from the end of the hall. "I have to ask you to report to Captain Lancaster." He was a young man, about three years out of the Academy. It never occurred to him that he might need to draw his weapon to apprehend a fifty-year-old flag officer. Janeway responded by producing a small hand phaser and stunning him.

That was enough to get everyone shooting. The other security officers opened fire, but Janeway was already running down the corridor in the opposite direction. Ajax followed, and reconfigured his program to include not only a humanoid figure but a weapon in that figure's hand. Energy and projectile weapons were beyond the scope of his matrix, but a Cardassian nightstick would suffice. By the time Janeway and Ajax ran into a second team advancing from the other direction, Ajax was prepared, and charged them to protect his superior officer.

The _Stormwind_ security staff were competent and well-trained, but they had nothing on a hologram programmed to fight the Borg, with the knowledge of the keenest tacticians in Federation military history. Phaser fire was useless on him except if it struck his mobile emitter, which was carefully hidden within the projection itself. Not that it mattered, since the officers he tackled didn't get a chance to fire a shot. His speed was incalculable by human standards. And since his program was built upon a medical supplement, he knew exactly where and how hard to strike each of his victims to incapacitate them with non-lethal force.

"This way," he told Janeway as he picked up a phaser rifle. "There's a Jefferies tube access hatch ahead that will take us to--"

"If I wanted to be obvious about it," the admiral snapped, "I'd have beamed directly into the shuttle. We'll use take turbolift shaft Alpha-Seven to Cargo Bay One."

"A turbolift shaft?" Ajax marveled. "What if we run into--"

"Computer," Janeway said, as she marched towards the nearest turbolift and overrode the entrance. "Begin evacuation procedure Gamma One, authorization Janeway tau-iota-seven. Launch all escape pods on my mark." Once the doors were forced open she gestured for Ajax to enter. "I'll climb the ladders if I have to, but I suspect you know a quicker way down."

Ajax offered no argument; he merely boosted Janeway onto his back like a small child. Once he was inside the shaft he eschewed the maintenance ladder in favor of the railing that held the turbolift car on track. Fitting his fingers in the rail he allowed himself to slide downward at 39.8 meters per second. Unfazed by the tremendous friction against his hands, Ajax used his feet to slow to a stop once they reached Deck Ten.

"Computer, mark," Janeway stated once they emerged from the turboshaft. They could literally feel the _Stormwind_ shudder as every one of its escape pods was jettisoned from the hull simultaneously. "We'll have two minutes at most before they realize I'm not on any of those pods," she explained, "so stop asking questions and don't dawdle!"

Armed with one of his self-made melee weapons, Ajax was a formidable soldier; carrying a state-of-the-art phaser, he was a one-hologram army. With inhuman visual acuity he targeted and stunned every officer between the turbolift and the cargo bay, before any of them even saw him. The bay itself, however, was a different challenge. "Damn," Janeway grumbled when she accessed the entrance controls. "Lancaster opened the airlock to space."

"Can you repressurize the bay?" Ajax wondered as he defended their position.

"It's not this one I'm worried about," she said. "He's probably done the same thing to the shuttlebays." Her fingers flew across the control panel, bypassing safety protocols to get the air level in the bay back to tolerable levels. "We're in. Head for the transporter pad. I'll send you over first, to secure the shuttlebay, and then you'll beam me directly to one of the shuttles."

"Understood," Ajax replied. He followed the admiral into the bay, backing in while swinging his rifle in every direction until the entryway sealed shut. From there he sprinted to the transporter pad, still scanning for any potential threat until the very microsecond that he disappeared from the room.

From what Ajax could tell, the bay was devoid of both life and life support. There wasn't time for a rigorous security sweep, though; Janeway was stranded in the cargo bay until he could beam her over. He quickly sized up the available shuttlecraft, and selected the one best suited for his tactical situation.

"Don't move."

He was a meter away from the shuttle's hatch when he heard the warning. His program evaluated his options. Even if he was cornered, it might still be possible to use his holographic abilities to surprise the attacking force. But Janeway's safety was a critcial variable, which overrode much of his risk-assessment algorithms. Ajax did not move.

"Turn around slowly," the voice instructed. Ajax complied, and found a man in an EV suit, who had evidently hidden himself from his hasty scans of the room. He had his own phaser rifle, but his was already aimed directly at his target. "You're the hologram, I presume?"

"Military Assault Hologram. Sergeant Ajax."

"Lieutenant Narb-Uzek, chief of security," the man replied. "You should know this weapon is set for a wide beam. So if I fire, I'm bound to hit your holo-emitter and disable your program."

"I know," Ajax explained. "You're going to have to."

"I'm prepared to. But I'd rather not." Ajax could see by now that the man was a Grazerite, which indicated he was a pacifist. "I will do what it takes to protect this ship, so I appreciate that you will do what it takes to achieve your objectives. Tell me what they are and perhaps we can come to terms."

"I've been ordered to get Admiral Janeway off of this ship," Ajax said. "There's been a mutiny."

Narb-Uzek approached him deliberately, avoiding any aggressive movement. "Sergeant," he said, "I swear to you that is not so. Stand down so that I can prove it to you."

Ajax wavered, looking down at his rifle, and considering the available options. "I...I'm not sure what to do. Admiral Janeway outranks you, but that doesn't mean she's the one telling me the truth. I'm not certain which orders I should obey."

"Then I humbly suggest you make the choice that will give you time to consider that dilemma."

The hologram's lip trembled as he mulled over this logic. It always frightened him to go beyond his programming, and allow himself to make decisions beyond the sum of his algorithms. Nevertheless, he lowered his rifle to the ground, and then raised his hands above his head. "I...believe you'll need my help to force the admiral to accept your reasoning."


	25. Chapter 25

If security at the Fate seemed lax, it was only to the extent that certain precautions were irrelevant. Jimenez was free to move about the compound because there was no way past the force fields, and nowhere to go on the rest of the planet even if he could. He was free to consort with the other prisoners because none of them had any apparent resources to help him escape. And he was left alone with the prison replicator because staying up all night hacking into it wouldn't get him anywhere. 

At best he might hope to reconfigure the device to tap into a communications relay and contact the _Hrunting_. But being in contact with the shuttle and telling it what to do were two different things. His ace in the hole, then, was Doctor Ijhel--if he could gain access to the ship and hand it off to her before the guards realized what she could do with it, they'd be out. So he _did_ stay up all night with it, reciting statements into the verbal interface that couldn't be recognized as menu selections but would be parsed as new instructions for the computer.

It was tedious work, but he had an edge, of which the guards either did not know or did not care. Between her telepathy and her sympathies for the Borg, Merrani Vystir had established an _ad hoc_ network among all of the prisoners that had been removed from the Collective. This "cooperative" might have preferred being linked together with neural transceivers and subspace domains, but they evidently were willing to take what they could get. The raw processing power of that many humanoid brains was staggering. And because the network was psionic, he could access it without any elaborate cybernetics.

None of the ex-drones retained enough Starfleet-caliber engineering knowledge from the Borg, so it was up to Jimenez to devise the procedure for accessing the comm system. But by sharing that process across the collective, the work was completed exponentially faster. What should have taken a week without any tools was nearly fished, affording Jimenez a chance to familiarize himself with his new Betazoid ally.

They sat in the corner of the barracks, sharing a pot of tea produced before the replicator became unusable for its original purpose. There were ex-drones all around them, standing in a catatonic state as they focused on their mutual problem. "So, uh...are you always 'connected' to them?" he asked Vystir.

"I have to be," she answered, her voice aloof and distracted. "I'm the connection. Are you familiar with the nature of the Borg collective? With what Starfleet calls their 'queen?'"

"I guess so...I think I heard her once." Jimenez struggled to describe that experience. "We tapped into their transmissions once and the voices of the Collective melded into one..."

"Really?" Vystir lit up. "That must have been a...numinous experience..."

"I don't know about that, she was trying to kill us at the time."

Vystir held her teacup to her mouth, but neglected to drink from it. "The Queen doesn't want to kill anyone. She's the embodiment of universal fellowship. She doesn't command the Borg, she binds them together into perfection. And that's what I do for the drones in this prison. I don't give them order, I provide the means for them to maintain their own order. I don't take away their freedom, I give them the power to exercise their freedom."

Jimenez couldn't help but stare into the black eyes of the Betazoid as she spoke. "Not everyone wishes to be free of the Collective," she explained. "The drones in this camp _believe_ in the Borg philosophy."

"You mean they were assimilated as children," the ensign suggested. "They don't know any other way of life."

"Not all of them," Vystir insisted. "Many of them fully recall their original cultures. They simply prefer the Borg way of life."

"So you keep them linked telepathically, like some kind of...Borg vicereine," he concluded. "But what's in it for you?"

"Nathan," she said, with the purest sincerity, " _I_ prefer the Borg way of life. That's why I'm here."

"But how can you?" he countered. "How can a Federation citizen find that lifestyle attractive enough to resort to treason?"

"Oh," she moaned, "if you'd open your mind fully I would show you. But that's exactly why you resist--not to protect your individuality, but because you're afraid you might appreciate the alternative. That's why....................."

It took Jimenez a few moments to realize that Vystir wasn't going to finish that last sentence. Her eyes were glassy and dilated, and she seemed focused on some reality a light year behind him. He reached over and shook her shoulder. "Vystir? Merrani? Um...are you...?"

She snapped back to her senses just as quickly as she'd taken leave of them. "Your friend. Ijhel. She needs our help."


	26. Chapter 26

By the time Jimenez and Vystir found Ijhel, she was laying on a mat in one of the barracks, surrounded by ex-drones. There were no signs of physical harm, but she was clearly shaken by her experience. Jimenez knelt down beside her and checked her vitals. "Pulse is erratic," he declared, "eyes dilated...what did they do to her?"

"Ensign," Ijhel smiled weakly. "I had started to think I'd never see you again...or anything else for that matter..."

Vystir tried to explain, though this was difficult for her without simply dumping the information into Jimenez's brain. "This facility uses sensory deprivation to isolate prisoners from the rest of the population. It's meant to be therapy for recovering Borg drones, but it can be applied as--"

"Torture," Ijhel interrupted, though she winced at the loudness of her own voice. "Ackerman 'suggested' I give it a try, to dissuade me of that assessment. But a vole is a vole. You lose all track of time in there...and then you wonder how many years it will take before you go mad. I can only imagine how much worse the experience is for a Borg."

"We've learned to cope with it," Vystir said. "The Borg have developed numerous applications for a collective consciousness, including forms of therapy for psychological trauma. Doctor, we can provide you with that same treatment, but your mind is puzzlingly closed to me..."

"Cardassian discipline, my dear," Ijhel admitted. "Which has been strained to its limits today, but is more than enough to block out a Betazoid trying to turn me into a Borg."

Jimenez shook his head. "You have to let her try, Utana..."

"Do I? I'm fine, I assure you!" She struggled to stand, but found that her balance had still not yet recovered enough to do so. "It'll take more than this to stop me..."

"Why do you resist?" one of the ex-drones asked her. "We only wish to improve your quality of life."

"Not all species recognize our definition of improvement," Vystir explained. "We can't force Doctor Ijhel to comply--we must adapt. Ensign Jimenez will assist us."

Jimenez sighed at having that burden dumped on his shoulders, but he went along with the plan. Cradling Ijhel in his arms he tried to convince her of the merits of the plan. "Listen, Utana...uhhh...we're almost ready to contact _Hrunting_. I mean, we could be out of here by tomorrow, but we need you. I mean, you at the top of your game."

"My mind is my own, Ensign..."

"I won't let them change that," he insisted. "Look, I mean...if you've got some dark Cardassian secrets you're trying to keep, don't worry about that. None of these people care. And it's not like Ajax is going to find out--"

"A-ajax?"

"Uhhhh..." Jimenez rolled his eyes, realizing he'd just stepped in it. "Look, once this whole thing is over, we'll find Ajax, and I'll set him for medical operations, and he'll make sure your head is screwed on right. You trust him, right? I mean, you created him, after all..."

"Worst bedside manner in the quadrant," Ijhel groaned, forcing a smile. "But I suppose you have a point. Very well...I put myself in your capable hands."

"Great," Jimenez replied, before looking up to Vystir. "So, yeah. What do we do now?"

Vystir's eyes shifted, and the prisoners in the room jolted to attention. " _We_ will link our thoughts to Doctor Ijhel's, so that our combined power can stabilize her biorhythms and order her mind. You can participate if you wish, Nathan, but we will understand if you refuse..."

"No." He took a deep breath and reflected on his decision. "No, I won't refuse, that is. I'll play along--if Utana can take a chance on you, then I should too."

"Then close your eyes," Vystir instructed, "and open your mind. Focus all of your thoughts on Ijhel. You don't have to understand how this works, just allow those that do to utilize your brain to make it work."

Jimenez did as he was told, and within moments his awareness of his surroundings was gone. He was still in the prison, yet he wasn't--his consciousness was aligned with those of Vystir's collective, allowing him to experience their perspectives and memories. He'd experienced telepathic contact before, but never with more than one person, except when the Borg tried to invade his mind. This was a new kind of social interaction, to communicate one's thoughts by allowing others to think them with you.

He could sense the collective's common purpose, and did his best to join it. He heard the voices of the group harmonize into one. WE ARE THE BORG. OPEN YOUR MIND TO OUR THOUGHTS. OUR THOUGHTS ARE ONE. FEEL THE CONNECTION. YOUR DISTINCTIVENESS IS BEING ADDED TO OUR OWN. YOU ARE NOT ALONE. OUR STRENGTH IS YOUR STRENGTH. YOU HAVE BEEN DAMAGED. YOU ARE A PART OF US. WE ARE DAMAGED. WE WILL ADAPT AND OVERCOME. THERE IS NO NEED FOR APPREHENSION. NO HARM WILL COME. SEE WHO WE ARE. Jimenez felt himself becoming intimately familiar with the others in this link. A man who born into the hive mind, from a culture totally assimilated centuries ago, who knew no other way of life. An adolescent whose society inflicted only cruelty and corruption, for whom assimilation was relief. Members of a species that would have naturally declined into extinction, if not for the timely intervention of the Collective. A woman whose civilization was simply a different cybernetic collective, which regarded the Borg as a perfection of their own philosophies. Each of these people were not evil, or deluded, for preferring the Collective's way of life. Certainly it was wrong for the Borg to force that lifestyle onto those who opposed it, but now he could see that resisting the Borg should not intrinsically mean the extermination of that lifestyle for all individuals. His thoughts drifted to Vystir, and he could sense that she had reached this same conclusion. To her the Borg represented a source of comfort--the support of a society without the chaos of many individual voices scrambling through her mind. He felt Ijhel's trauma from her imprisonment, and then the relief of having that burden distributed across the hive. This experienced frightened her, but she could feel it helping, and did not resist. Beyond experiencing everyone else's thoughts, he realized everyone else was experiencing his. They knew all his hopes and fears. They perceived his anxieties and understood them. They knew he was embarrassed by his attraction to Vystir--that he felt ashamed to be so smitten with a woman he knew nothing about, like a foolish boy in a fairy tale--and they did not condemn him for this. Instead they encouraged him, and he too did not resist.


	27. Chapter 27

Admiral Janeway paced around her cell as if she expected to escape by wearing through the deckplate. Every so often she would glare across the _Stormwind_ 's brig to Ajax, specially confined with force fields designed to contain a hologram. "I hope it was worth it," she spat.

Ajax couldn't help but respond with the strictest protocol. "Admiral?"

"Disobeying your commanding officer. Siding with mutineers. Compromising the entire attack posture of the Federation Alliance. Aiding and abetting, however indirectly, the Borg."

Neither of them saw a massive flash of light between their cells, as Q, Amanda Rogers, and Commander Kreighen teleported into the brig. "There we are," Q remarked as he took stock of his new surroundings.

"What are we doing here?" Kreighen asked. "And what happened to them?"

"Just listen, Commander," Q answered, "and I think all of your questions will be resolved."

Ajax finally replied to Janeway's accusations. "Begging the admiral's pardon, but I responded to the situation in full accordance to my programming."

"No," Janeway shot back, "you were programmed to follow orders. You responded according to your conscience, which you aren't even supposed to have."

Q was slightly puzzled, and leaned over to whisper to Amanda. "This is a bit earlier than what I was shooting for, isn't it?"

"That was me," she whispered back. "I thought Jake needed to see this part, and then we'll get to what you had in mind."

"I see." He was curiously proud of his apprentice for one-upping him in this manner. "And when will then be now?"

"Soon," Amanda smiled.

Ajax summoned up his holographic courage and addressed Janeway. "Permission to speak freely, Admiral."

Janeway looked up from her pacing with amused disgust. "We're in the _brig_ , Sergeant. And you _can't_ speak freely--that was the entire point of your program."

"No sir, the point of my program is to be expendable. If all Starfleet had wanted was an artificial intelligence that would blindly follow orders, it would have designed a starship to perform combat operations on automatic pilot. I'm programmed to have no fear of my own destruction, and to obey my superiors. But I'm no good to Starfleet if I can't question my orders. Serving under Commander Kreighen has shown me that."

"I am not interested in how Commander Kreighen would handle this situation."

"Then you shouldn't have assigned me to him," Ajax countered. "If all you wanted was a carbon-copy of your Emergency Medical Hologram--someone in awe of your authority--then that was your first mistake. Kreighen understood the people in his command, and how to earn their respect for his authority. When I disobeyed his orders, he took it seriously, and when he pushed back I knew he wouldn't ask me to do something he didn't think was absolutely necessary. He didn't have the luxury of handling insubordination by sending a crewman into exile, or claiming mutiny."

Janeway had half a mind to throw herself against the force field, in the hopes that she could break through and shut him up. "Is that how you think I run this war? 'Off with their heads!'"

"All I know, Admiral, is that there is no mutiny here. If there were, you'd have been put off the ship as soon as you were captured. At most, the captain objected to your orders. And from what I can tell, the issue is probably with your orders, not the captain."

She started to make another attempt to have the last word until the _Stormwind_ shuddered, which she seemed to treat as a sufficient rejoinder.

As the brig grew silent, Amanda spoke to Kreighen. "You wanted to know why we chose you for this mission, Jake. Part of the answer is that you're far enough away from the fighting that no one would notice us contacting you. Ajax just told you the rest."

"I...I didn't know he saw it that way," Kreighen admitted.

"Now let's not get all teary-eyed about it," Q groaned. "All of your little crew respected you, you know. As much as you might want to believe you're only responsible for their misery--and there is ample evidence to support that--they see you as a source of strength too. You might have been a terrible commander when you first took command, but by now you're up to the task that awaits you."

Kreighen looked at him with suspicion. "I wouldn't have figured you to be much of a life coach, Q."

"Nor should you," he conceded. "But desperate times call for desperate measures. My first impulse was to take this to Jean-Luc...but I know him too well. I'd have to explain twice as much as I've told you before he'd believe the threat was serious, and he'd spill all the beans to his little minions. And I'm sure you can see by now why I don't go directly to Kathy."

"Admiral Janeway's strategy is to avoid contact with Earth until the war is going well," Amanda clarified. "So she'll do anything to maintain the invasion's momentum. At this point she'd be happy to look the other way while Unimatrix Zero enslaves the Xhiryptyr'x, without considering the bigger picture."

"Then you need me to stop her," Kreighen concluded. "This ship's captain--Lancaster--he's realized something's wrong, but he probably doesn't have much proof. Someone like me would go a long way towards--"

"We've been over this already, Jake," Amanda said. "The war has to be seen through, and Janeway is the only one who can make sure of that. We don't need you to stop her, we need you to save her."


	28. Chapter 28

Within ten minutes of the _Stormwind_ grinding to a halt, Captain Lancaster marched into the brig, straight to Admiral Janeway. "What have you done to my ship?" he demanded.

She toyed with him. "From a holding cell? Not much."

That wasn't good enough. "Engines and sensors are offline," he fumed. "We're still under cloak, but that doesn't give me much confidence since we could barely mask the cargo you brought aboard to start with. I can't even assess the problem because the main computer refuses to accept any of the crew's command codes--every screen is showing a bloody ome--"

"Omega symbol," she finished for him. "It's a part of the Omega Directive--a protocol to disable a starship to prevent any unauthorized research into omega molecules. It typically happens when a ship detects the particles on long-range sensors."

Lancaster wasn't convinced. "You expect me to believe that, by sheer coincidence, the _Stormwind_ ran across one of these molecules just after I had you put in the brig?"

"Coincidences happen," she evaded.

The captain's cool, detached demeanor was by now strained to its limit. "We are light years inside enemy territory, carrying cargo and intelligence that the enemy would go to any length to acquire. And you are telling me that you have deliberately left us defenseless--dead in the water, as it were--simply to win an argument."

Janeway smiled and gave a sarcastic shrug. "Standard procedure would be for the ship's senior-most officer to enter an access code to restore ship's functions and review the sensor data for evidence of omega molecules."

"I shall be damned before I turn control of this ship over to you, after what you've done today..."

"You don't have to," she argued. "Give me a shuttle and I'll release the lockout once I'm out of tractor range." She could tell that didn't meet with his approval, so she pressed her case. "It's either that, or sit here and wait the first ship that comes along and finds you. I guarantee it won't be one of ours."

Lancaster's eyes flared, but he reined in his temper before allowing himself to blow up at her. He gave his tunic a sharp tug and composed himself. "Admiral, it's clear you're in rather a hurry to disembark from my ship. I believe it imperative to know why."

The captain walked to the brig's computer terminal and sounded the boatswain's whistle for a ship-wide communication. "Attention, all personnel. Fleet Admiral Kathryn Janeway has been placed under arrest and charged with desertion with intent to shirk important service, contempt toward officials, and conduct unbecoming an officer. A hearing will be immediately convened to consider the charges and specifications of a general court martial."

Janeway nearly threw herself against the force field. "You don't have the authority, Mister!"

"Perhaps," Lancaster admitted, "but since you've made it impossible to turn you over to a court of your peers, I believe Starfleet regulations will permit an exception. You've used your position to avoid consulting your superiors, to eliminate Commander Kreighen, and to interfere with the operations of the _Stormwind_. Well, I will have you answer for that, Admiral, even if I have to hang for it!"

He stormed away to organize the inquiry, leaving Ajax to watch Janeway sulk. Unobserved by any of them, Kreighen was in awe of the captain's guile. "Cute trick," he mused. "If he logs Janeway's conviction in the computer, it'll automatically rescind her security clearance, and he'll have authority to get the ship running again."

"And a conviction is a rather likely outcome," Q added, "seeing as his suspicions are entirely correct. Of course, most of Lancaster's evidence is only circumstantial..."

"That's why you need me," Kreighen realized. "You knew Janeway was going to screw up, and her history with me would come back to haunt her."

Amanda took his hand and clasped it in hers. "Jake, I know the last eight months have been hell for you. Your faith in Starfleet and humanity has been damaged, maybe beyond repair. You have every right to hope Janeway pays for what she's done. But there are larger issues at stake here."

"Infinitely larger," Q scoffed. "Lancaster wants justice for you, himself, his ship, and his puny human values. All of that pales, however, in comparison to the threat to the entire galaxy. Janeway's support of Unimatrix Zero has caused them to increase the usage of Xhiryptyr'x conscripts, and now she's giving them the means to weaponize omega molecules. Without even realizing it, she's drawing the Borg and 'Species 10538' closer and closer to a confrontation that threatens the cosmos."

"So let Lancaster have Janeway's head!" Kreighen argued. "You two keep saying you need her to keep the war going, but it sounds like the universe would be better off with anything else!"

"But Janeway's already set everything in motion," Amanda reminded him. "Think of it...think of it like a game of chess. If I use the Troi Maneuver to respond to a Kriskov Gambit, you can sacrifice your queen to foil my strategy and save most of your material, but that won't help--I still have checkmate in sixty-seven moves."

"You...do?" Kreighen wondered. He was more of a carrom kind of guy.

"Just pipe down and _listen_ to her," Q huffed.

"The solution," she went on, "is to leave the queen in play, because that piece is instrumental in endgame. Janeway may have dragged the universe to the brink of assimilation, but she's also the only one who can set things right."

Q grabbed Kreighen by the shoulder and pulled him aside. "You and I both know how formidable she is, Commander--if anyone can make Korok abandon his conscripted army, she can. She might even be able to persuade the Xhiryptyr'x to stay out of the Borg's way. We need her to keep fighting the war, just not the _way_ she's been fighting it."

"All right then," Kreighen replied as he removed Q's hand from his shoulder. "But that still leaves two problems. First, I'm not really on this ship, am I? I'm a thousand parsecs away, on some godforsaken moon. Second, even if I could be a surprise witness at Janeway's court martial, how am I supposed to get her to change her policy? She's not going to just take my recommendation, and you've made it clear I can't say 'because the Q said so' without making things worse."

"In that case, if it'll set your mind at ease," Q replied, "the first problem's no problem at all, and I'll be all too happy to handle your travel accommodations. As to the second..." His face twisted into an impish grin, as he was eager to finish this business. "...Well, that's why they pay _you_ the commander money, isn't it, Jakers?"

Q was about to snap his fingers, but for the second time that day he was beaten to the punch. Kreighen vanished in a flash of light, and by the time Q looked up to see Amanda she had already finished waving her hands. She knew it annoyed him to be upstaged this way, and offered no apologies for it. "This _was_ my assignment, after all," she said.

"Oh, what's that?" he retorted. "Well, of course, _you're welcome_ for all my valuable assistance! Anytime you need me! _Mi Continuo es su Continuo_ , after all!"

"There aren't any humans here to listen to you, Q," Amanda retorted, "so you can stop being so...horrible."

"But I don't _have to_ stop either, now do I?" Q began to amuse himself by examining Admiral Janeway's cell, and the admiral herself. "Say, where did you send him, anyway?"

Amanda was reminded that she'd put one over on him, and smiled. "Close enough to complete his mission, don't worry. But first I wanted to make good on a promise."

***

As the light faded, Kreighen could only imagine what sort of asinine "penalty box" Q might have dropped him into. He was at least pleased to find himself indoors, and in warmer surroundings than the moon he'd lived on for nearly a month. But the room was dark, and his eyes were slow to adjust to the poor lighting. He shuffled forward, hoping to find some sign of civilization. Instead he tripped over a rather large lump on the floor, which took exception to his blunder.

"Augh...dammit...what the hell are you doing?"

"Sorry, Ensign," Kreighen responded, about half a second before he realized he'd recognized the voice. "Nathan?"

"Jake?" Jimenez sprang to his feet, and his eyes were far better attuned to make out his comrade. " _¡Dios mio!_ How--?"

Kreighen didn't wait for his vision to adjust before he grabbed the other man in a tight hug. "Nathan! Korok told me he killed you!"

"That's...uh...yeah...that's what we wanted him to think," Jimenez fumbled as he tried to breathe.

"What about Utana?"

"Out cold," the ensign explained. "She'll be fine, but she's been through hell. Jake, how did you get here?"

Kreighen considered the real answers to those questions, and ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. "It's a long story. And it's not over yet. I think...let's just say I've got friends in high places."


End file.
